THE 

GOLDEN 
HOUR 



PRUOTNGE LEWIS 



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Book 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSn^ 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 



THE 

GOLDEN HOUR 



Stories and Poems for Opening Exercises 
in the School-Room 



By 

PRUDENCE LEWIS 



A man's character and conduct will 
always be according to his education 
—Plato 



INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright 191D 
The Bobbs-Merrill Company 






& 






PRESS OF 

BRAUNWORTH &. CO. 

BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN, N. Y. 



^C!,A275U& 



TO 

MY SISTER ANNIE 



SUGGESTIONS TO THE 
TEACHER 

The material presented in this book is a collection of 
stories and poems chosen because of their ethical value ; 
care having been taken that they should also have lit- 
erary merit. 

The object of the book is to give the teacher a store- 
house, ready and near at hand, from which to draw 
when preparing her lessons in ethics. 

The collection was made for the first four grades, 
though many of the poems and stories can well be used 
with more mature pupils. 

Although the arrangement of the material is accord- 
ing to subjects, an index by grades has been supplied 
for the convenience of those who prefer this method 
of finding a suitable selection. 

Several profitable ways of using this material hav- 
ing been found, they are explained in the following 
paragraphs in the hope that the teacher taking up this 
book may find them a help. 

The first ten minutes, at the opening of the school 
day, may be used for an exercise that has as its pur- 
pose the teaching of ethics. If the teacher has selected 
her subject, and wishes to make a certain thought im- 
pressive, she may, if she can, tell one of the stories 
found under this subject, or, if not prepared to tell it 
well, she should read it. If she is one who knows and 
loves poetry, she will find a subtle influence taking hold 



SUGGESTIONS TO THE TEACHER 

of the hearts of her young hearers as they listen to a 
poem well recited by their teacher. 

Again, stories may be read or told by the pupils and 
poetry recited by them. 

Another time it may be advantageous to place the 
subject on the blackboard and ask children to recall 
stories suggested by it. 

A short conversation on the subject or the story may 
prove useful, and if a song bearing on it can be well 
sung by the school, it will enhance the value of the se- 
lection. 

Many poems and stories may be used several times 
during the year if presented in different ways. The 
Heavens Declare His Glory if first presented as a reci- 
tation by the teacher, then committed by the pupils 
and given by one of them, or by the school as a concert 
recitation, may be learned as a song later. Other 
poems as Like a Cradle, Morning, Providence, The 
Love of God, Worship, The Brown Thrush, Landing 
of the Pilgrims, Battle Hymn of the Republic, and Lit- 
tle White Lily, can be used in the same way. 

Children are often glad to retell a story which they 
have heard the teacher tell. 

Some teachers may wish to make special classifica- 
tions to suit certain days, as Lincoln's birthday or 
Thanksgiving Day, gathering material from different 
parts of the book. P. L. 



NOTE OF 
ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Acknowledgment is made for permission to use se- 
lections from the writings of Helen Hunt Jackson, Ed- 
ward Everett Hale and Louisa M. Alcott to Little, 
Brown and Company; of James Baldwin, H. Weir, 
Harriet Beecher Stowe, Francis M. Finch, Nahum 
Tate, Frank French, Julia A. Eastman, and for What 
is the Reason, That's How, and The Crow and the 
Pitcher to The American Book Company; of Ben- 
son's Upton Letters to G. P. Putnam's Sons, of New 
York and London; of Matthias Claudius, Mary L. B. 
Branch to George W. Jacobs and Company; George 
W. Banks, Charles H. Crandall, and Alice F. Palmer 
to The Penn Publishing Company, Philadelphia {Four 
Mottoes is published in One Hundred Choice Selec- 
tions, number thirty-four, and Three Trees is published 
in number twenty-eight) ; of Horace Mann, and Albrekt 
Segerstedt to Lothrop, Lee and Shepard; of Phillips 
Brooks to E. P. Button and Company; of Emily H. 
Miller to Doubleday, Page and Company; of Andrea 
Hofer Proudfoot, Mary Densel, and for The Little 
Match Girl, and The Ugly Duckling to Edward Haw- 
kins; of Ella Palmer Allerton to Rand, McNally and 
Company ; and for Little Ships in the Air to Mrs. Ed- 
ward A. Rand; from Nature in Verse, and for The 
Honest Woodman, and The Stone in the Road, as re- 
told by Sarah Louise Arnold in Stepping Stones to 



NOTE OF ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Literature to Silver, Burdett and Company; for The 
Birds' Christmas Dinner to The Youth's Companion; 
for Under the Snow to The Christian Register; and 
for Little Brown Hands to Mary Hannah Krout. Ac- 
knowledgment is also made for the use of Rover and 
His Friends from Friends and Helpers, by Sarah J. 
Eddy to Ginn and Company ; for The Planting of the 
Apple Tree, reprinted from Bryant's Complete Poet- 
ical Works to D. Appleton and Company ; for a selec- 
tion from A Man's Value to Society by Newell Dwight 
Hillis, copyright 1897, to The Fleming H. Revell Com- 
pany ; for an extract from The American Boy by The- 
odore Roosevelt to the Century Company ; for Christ- 
mas Gifts, by May Armstrong to The Ladies' Home 
Journal; for The Stone Cutter to Elizabeth Harrison. 

The selections from Alice Cary, Harriet Beecher 
Stowe, Celia Thaxter, Sara Cone Bryant, Lucy Lar- 
com, Julia Ward Howe, William Blake, Bayard Tay- 
lor, Edward Rowland Sill, John Greenleaf Whittier, 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, James Russell Lowell, 
and Ralph Waldo Emerson, are used by permission of, 
and by special arrangement with the Houghton, Mif- 
flin Company, publishers of their works. 

Stories and adaptations of stories for which no credit 
is given are the work of the editor. 



PROVIDENCE 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

THE HEAVENS DECLARE 
HIS GLORY 

By Joseph Addison 

The spacious firmament on high, 
.With all the blue ethereal sky. 
The spangled heavens, a shining frame. 
Their great Original proclaim ; 
The unwearied sun from day to day. 
Does his Creator's power display. 
And publishes to every land 
The work of an Almighty hand. 

Soon as the evening shades prevail. 
The moon takes up the wondrous tale^ 
And nightly, to the listening earth. 
Repeats the story of her birth ; 
While all the stars that round her burn. 
And all the planets in their turn. 
Confirm the tidings as they roll. 
And spread the truth from pole to pole. 
I 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

What though in solemn silence all. 
Move round the dark terrestrial ball ? 
What though no real voice nor sound 
Amid the radiant orbs be found ? 
In reason's ear they all rejoice. 
And utter forth a glorious voice ; 
Forever singing as they shine, 
'The hand that made us is divine." 



A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD 

By Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

They say that God lives very high, 

But if you look above the pines 

You can not see our God. And — why ? 

And if you dig down in the mines 
You never see Him in the gold. 
Though from Him all that's glory shines. 

God is so good, He wears a fold 
Of heaven and earth across His face. 
Like secrets kept, for love, untold. 

2 



PROVIDENCE 

And still I feel that His embrace 

Slides down by thrills, through all things made, 

Through sight and sound of every place : 

As if my tender mother laid 
On my shut lids her kisses' pressure, 
Half waking me at night, and said, 
'Who kissed you through the dark, dear 
guesser?" 



WHO HOLDS UP THE SKY 

[Authorship Unknown] 

From the grass a daisy looked. 
And with a glance quite shy, 
"O, dear Miss Rose," she said, 
"Do you hold up the sky?" 
"Dear Daisy," said the Rose, 
"I can't reach up so high, 
But if you wish to know, 
To find out I will try; 
For maybe 'tis the Fir-tree 
That's holding up the sky." 

3 



« 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Then the Rose to the Fir-tree 

Upraised her radiant eye 
And said with a blush, "Good Sir, 

Do you hold up the sky?" 
The Fir-tree shook his head 

And answered with a sigh, 
'O, no indeed, sweet Rose, 

It surely is not I." 

Then he asked the Elm, 

That stood to him quite nigh. 
The Elm her branches waved 

And said, "It is not I. 
But a mountain very tall 

In the distance I spy. 
And on his shoulders rests, 

I think, the wondrous sky." 



Then the Elm sent the Wind, 

And the Wind did swiftly hie. 
And said, "Your highness, sir, 

Do you hold up the sky?" 
"Sweet Daisy," said the Rose, 
"I fear, before we die, 
4 



PROVIDENCE 

,We never shall find out 
Who holdeth up the sky." 

But as she spoke a bird 

So far above did fly, 
She thought he surely touched 

The very same blue sky. 
When flew the little bird 

To the tall Fir-tree near by, 
They asked, "O tell us, please, 

Who holdeth up the sky?" 

Perched on a swinging bough 

Then sang the happy Bird, 
While Fir, and Elm, and Mountain, 

And Rose, and Daisy heard, 
" 'Tis He who made the Daisy, 

'Tis He who made the Rose, 
*Tis He who made the Fir-tree, 

The Elm, and all that grows ; 
'Tis He who made the Mountain, 

And made the Bird to fly. 
The good and heavenly Father 

Who holdeth up the sky." 

5 



PSALM cm 

Bless the Lord, O my soul : and all that is within 
me, bless His holy name. 

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His 
benefits : 

Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth 
all thy diseases; 

Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who 
crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mer- 
cies; 

Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so 
that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's. 

The Lord executeth righteousness and judgment 
for all that are oppressed. 

He made known His ways unto Moses, His acts 
unto the children of Israel. 

The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, 
and plenteous in mercy. 

He will not always chide : neither will he keep His 
anger for ever. 

He hath not dealt with us after our sins; nor re- 
warded us according to our iniquities. 

6 



PROVIDENCE 

For as the heaven is high above the earth, so great 
is His mercy toward them that fear Him. 

As far as the east is from the west, so far hath 
He removed our transgressions from us. 

Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord 
pitieth them that fear Him. 

For He knoweth our frame ; He remembereth that 
we are dust. 

As for man, his days are as grass : as a flower of 
the field, so he flourisheth. 

For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone ; and 
the place thereof shall know it no more. 

But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to 
everlasting upon them that fear Him, and His right- 
eousness unto children's children; 

To such as keep His covenant, and to those that 
remember His commandments to do them. 

The Lord hath prepared His throne in the heav- 
ens ; and His kingdom ruleth over all. 

Bless the Lord, ye His angels, that excel in 
strength, that do His commandments, hearkening 
unto the voice of His word. 

Bless ye the Lord, all ye His hosts; ye ministers 
of His, that do His pleasure. 

Bless the Lord, all His works in all places of His 
dominion : bless the Lord, O my soul. 

7 



LITTLE SHIPS IN THE AIR 

By Edward A. Rand 

"Flakes of snow, with sails so white, 
Drifting down the wintry skies, 
Tell me where your route begins, 
Say which way your harbor lies ?" 

"In the clouds, the roomy clouds, 
Arching earth with shadowy dome. 
There's the port from which we sail. 
There is tiny snowflake's home." 

"And the cargo that you take 

From those cloudy ports above — 
Is it always meant to bless. 
Sent in anger or in love ?" 

"Warmth for all the tender roots, 
Warmth for every living thing, 
Water for the river's flow. 
This the cargo that we bring." 
8 



PROVIDENCE 

"Who's the Master that you serve. 
Bids you lift your tiny sails. 
Brings you safely to the earth, 

Guides you through the wintry gales?' 

"He who tells the birds to sing, 
He who sends the April flowers, 
He who ripens all the fruit, 
That great Master, He is ours.'* 



PIPPA'S SONG 

By Robert Browning 

The year's at the spring 

And day's at the morn ; 
Morning's at seven; 

The hillside's dew-pearled ; 
The lark's on the wing ; 

The snail's on the thorn : 
God's in His heaven — 

All's right with the world. 



There's a divinity that shapes our ends. 

— William Shakespeare. 
9 



A WALK IN SPRING 

By M. a. Stoddart 

I'm very glad the spring is come : the sun shines out 
so bright, 

The little birds upon the trees are singing for de- 
light; 

The young grass looks so fresh and green, the lambs 
do sport and play. 

And I can skip and run about as merrily as they. 

I like to see the daisy and the buttercups once more. 
The primrose, and the cowslip too, and every pretty 

flower : 
I like to see the butterfly extend her painted wing, 
And all things seem, just like myself, so pleased to 

see the spring. 

The fishes in the little brook are jumping up so high, 
The lark is singing sweetly as she mounts unto the 
sky, 

10 



PROVIDENCE 

The rooks are building up their nests upon the great 

oak tree, 
And everything's as busy and as happy as can be. 

There's not a cloud upon the sky, there's nothing 

dark or sad ; 
I jump, and scarce know what to do, I feel so very 

glad. 
God must be very good indeed, who made each 

pretty thing ; 
I'm sure we ought to love Him much for bringing 

back the spring. 



GOD'S CARE 

[Authorship Unknown] 

Knowest thou how many stars 
There are shining in the sky? 

Knowest thou how many clouds 
Every day go floating by ? 

God, the Lord, has counted all ; 
He would miss one should it fall. 
II 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Knowest thou how many babes 

Go to Httle beds at night, 
That without a care or trouble 

Wake up with the morning light? 
God in heaven each name can tell ; 

Knows thee too and loves thee well. 



WAITING TO GROW 

By Frank French 

Little white snowdrop just waking up, 
Violet, daisy, and sweet buttercup ! 
Think of the flowers that are under the snow. 
Waiting to grow ! 

And think what hosts of queer little seeds, 
Of flowers and mosses, of ferns and weeds. 
Are under the leaves and under the snow. 
Waiting to grow ! 

Only a month or a few weeks more. 
Will they have to wait behind that door ; 
Listen and watch for they are below, 
Waiting to grow ! 

12 



PROVIDENCE 

Nothing so small, or hidden so well, 
That God will not find it and very soon tell 
His sun where to shine and His rain where to go, 
To help them to grow ! 

Think of the roots getting ready to sprout, 
Reaching their slender, brown fingers about, 
Under the ice and the leaves and the snow. 
Waiting to grow ! 

LIKE A CRADLE 

By Helen Hunt Jackson 

Like a cradle, rocking, rocking, 

Silent, peaceful, to and fro, 
Hangs the green earth, swinging, turning, 

Fearless, noiseless, safe and slow. 
Like a mother's sweet looks dropping 

On the little face below. 
Falls the light of God's face bending 

Down, and watching us below. 



Providence is on the side of the strongest bat- 
talions. 

— Authorship Uncertain. 

13 



A PRAYER FOR EACH SEASON 

[Authorship Unknown] 

Hear us thank Thee, kindest Friend, 
For the springtime Thou dost send ; 
For the warm sunshine and rain. 
For the birds that sing again, 
For the sky so clear and blue, 
For our pleasant school-room too. 
For our friends so kind and true. 

Kindest Friend, we thank Thee now 
While our heads we lowly bow. 
For the summer sun and shower, 
For each bright and shining flower. 
Grass so green and clouds so white. 
Rosy morn and dewy night. 

Friend so gentle, kind and dear. 
Listen to Thy children here 
While they thank Thee for Thy love. 
Shown in stars that shine above, 
14 



PROVIDENCE 

Shown in frost, in cloud o'erhead, 
Shown in leaves of gold and red. 

Loving Friend, oh, hear our prayer, 
Take unto Thy tender care 
All the leaves and flowers that sleep. 
In their white beds covered deep — 
Sheltered from the wintry storm ; 
All Thy snow-birds keep them warm. 



PROVIDENCE 

By William Cowper 

God moves in a mysterious way 
His wonders to perform ; 

He plants His footsteps in the sea. 
And rides upon the storm. 

Deep in unfathomable mines 

Of never- failing skill. 
He treasures up His bright designs, 

And works His sovereign will. 
15 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

His purposes will ripen fast. 
Unfolding every hour; 

The bud may have a bitter taste, 
But sweet will be the flower. 



FLOWER-VOICES 

[Authorship Unknown] 

The red rose says, "Be sweet," 
And the hly bids, "Be pure," 
The hardy, brave chrysanthemum, 
"Be patient and endure." 

The violet whispers, "Give, 

Nor grudge nor count the cost," 

The woodbine, "Keep on blossoming 
In spite of chill and frost." 

And so each gracious flower 
Has each a several word, 

Which, read together, maketh up 
The message of the Lord. 
i6 



THE SANDPIPER 

By Celia Thaxter 

Across the narrow beach we flit. 

One little sandpiper and I ; 
And fast I gather, bit by bit. 

The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry. 
The wild waves reach their hands for it. 

The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, 
As up and down the beach we flit. 

One little sandpiper and I. 

Above our heads the sullen clouds 

Scud black and swift across the sky; 
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds 

Stand out the white lighthouses high. 
Almost as far as eye can reach 

I see close-reefed vessels fly, 
As fast we flit along the beach — 

One little sandpiper and I. 

I watch him as he skims along 

Uttering his sweet and mournful cry ; 

17 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

He starts not at my fitful song, 

Or flash of fluttering drapery. 
He has no thought of any wrong; 

He scans me with his fearless eye. 
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong, 

The little sandpiper and I. 

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night 

When the loosed storm breaks furiously ? 
My driftwood fire will burn so bright ! 

To what warm shelter canst thou fly ? 
I do not fear for thee, tho' wroth 

The tempest rushes through the sky ; 
For are we not God's children both, 

Thou, little sandpiper, and I ? 



The heavens declare the glory of God; and the 
firmament sheweth His handywork. 

Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto 
night sheweth knowledge. 

There is no speech nor language, where their voice 
is not heard. 

Their line is gone out through all the earth, and 
their words to the end of the world. In them hath 
He set a tabernacle for the sun. 

From Psalm XIX. 
i8 



WORSHIP 

By Folloitt S. Pierpont 

For the beauty of the earth, 
For the beauty of the skies, 

For the love which from our birth 
Over and around us lies,- — 

God our King, to Thee we raise 

This our hymn of grateful praise. 

For the beauty of the hour, 
Of the day and of the night. 

Hill and vale, and tree and flower, 
Sun and moon, and stars of light,- 

God our King, to Thee we raise 

This our hymn of grateful praise. 

For the joy of human love. 
Brother, sister, parent, child, 

Friends on earth and friends above; 
For all gentle thoughts and mild,- 

God our King, to Thee we raise 

This our hymn of grateful praise. 
19 



GOD'S GIFTS IN NATURE 

By Matthias Claudius 

iWe plow the fields and scatter 

The good seed on the land. 
But it is fed and watered 

By God's almighty hand ; 
He sends the snow in winter. 

And warmth to swell the grain. 
The breezes and the sunshine. 

And soft, refreshing rain. 

He only is the Maker 

Of all things near and far; 
He paints the wayside flower. 

He lights the evening star ; 
The winds and waves obey Him, 

By Him the birds are fed ; 
Much more to us. His children. 

He gives our daily bread. 

We thank Thee, then, O Father, 
For all things bright and good, 
20 



PROVIDENCE 

The seed-time and the harvest, 
Our life, our health, our food; 

Accept the gifts we offer 
For all Thy love imparts, 

And, what Thou most desirest. 
Our humble, thankful hearts. 



MORNING 

By Harriet Beecher Stowe 

Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh, 
When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee ; 

Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight. 
Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee. 

Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows, 
The solemn hush of nature newly born ; 

Alone with Thee in breathless adoration. 
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn. 

So shall it be at last, in that bright morning, 
When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee; 

O, in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning, 
Shall rise the glorious thought — I am with Thee. 

21 



THE LOVE OF GOD 

By Frederick W. Faber 

There's a wideness in God's mercy. 
Like the wideness of the sea ; 

There's a kindness in His justice, 
Which is more than liberty. 

For the love of God is broader 
Than the measure of man's mind ; 

And the heart of the Eternal 
Is most wonderfully kind. 



22 



CHEER 



RAIN IN SUMMER 

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow- 
How beautiful Is the rain! 
After the dust and heat, 
In the broad and fiery street. 
In the narrow lane, 
How beautiful is the rain ! 

How it clatters along the roofs, 

Like the tramp of hoofs ! 

How it gushes and struggles out 

From the throat of the overflowing spout ! 

Across the window-pane 

It pours and pours ; 

And swift and wide. 

With a muddy tide, 

Like a river down the gutter roars 

The rain, the welcome rain ! 

25 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

The sick man from his chamber looks 

At the twisted brooks ; 

He can feel the cool 

Breath of each little pool; 

His fevered brain 

Grows calm again, 

And he breathes a blessing on the rain. 

From the neighboring school 

Come the boys, 

With more than their wonted noise 

And commotion ; 

And down the wet streets 

Sail their mimic fleets. 

Till the treacherous pool 

Engulfs them in its whirling 

And turbulent ocean. 

In the country, on every side. 

Where far and wide. 

Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide. 

Stretches the plain. 

To the dry grass and the drier grain 

How welcome is the rain ! 



26 



CHEER 

In the furrowed land 

The toilsome and patient oxen stand ; 

Lifting the yoke-encumbered head. 

With their dilated nostrils spread, 

They silently inhale 

The clover-scented gale, 

And the vapors that arise 

From the well watered and smoking soil. 

For this rest in the furrow after toil 

Their large and lustrous eyes 

Seem to thank the Lord, 

More than man's spoken word. 

— Abridged. 



WHICH WAS THE WISER? 

Raven : Croak ! Croak ! 

Robin : Good morning to you, Sir Raven. I said 
good morning. 

Raven: You seem very merry this morning 
about nothing. 

Robin: Why should I not be merry? Spring 
has come now, at last, and everybody should be so 
happy. 

27 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Raven: I am not happy. Don't you see those 
black clouds above us? It is going to snow one of 
these days. 

Robin: Very well! I shall keep on singing till 
it comes, at any rate. A merry song will not make it 
any colder. 

Raven : You are very silly. The wind is so cold. 
It always blows the wrong way for me. It is always 
too warm or too cold. To be sure, it is pleasant just 
now, but I know that the sun will soon shine hot 
enough to burn one up. Then to-morrow it will be 
colder than ever before. I do not see how any one 
can be so silly as to sing at such a time as this. How 
can you? 

Robin : Well, my friend, where is your snow? 

Raven : Don't say anything, it will snow all the 
harder for this sunshine. 

Robin : And snow or sunshine you will keep on 
croaking. For my part, I shall look on the bright 
side of everything and have a song for every day in 
the year. — Adapted. 



A merry heart goes all the day, 
Your sad tires in a mile-a. 

— William Shakespeare. 

28 



THE FOUNTAIN 

By James Russell Lowell 

Into the sunshine. 

Full of the light, 
Leaping and flashing 

From morn till night. 

Into the moonlight. 
Whiter than snow, 

Waving so flower-like 
When the winds blow. 

Into the starlight 
Rushing in spray, 

Happy at midnight, 
Happy by day. 

Ever in motion, 

Blithesome and cheery, 
Still climbing heavenward, 

Never aweary. 
29 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Glad of all weathers, 
Still seeming best, 

Upward or downward, 
Motion thy rest. 

Full of a nature 
Nothing can tame, 

Changed every mornent, 
Ever the same. 

Ceaseless aspiring, 
Ceaseless content. 

Darkness or sunshine. 
Thy element. 

Glorious fountain. 

Let my heart be 
Fresh, changeful, constant. 

Upward, like thee ! 



The roses make the world so sweet, 
The bees, the birds, have such a tune. 

There's such a light and such a heat 
And such a joy in June. 

— George Macdonald. 

30 



CHICKADEE 

By Henry Ripley Dorr 

All the earth is wrapped in snow, 
O'er the hills the cold winds blow, 
Through the valley down below. 

Whirls the blast. 
All the mountain brooks are still, 
Not a ripple from the hill, 
For each tiny, murmuring rill 

Is frozen fast. 

Come with me 

To the tree, 
iWhere the apples used to hang ! 

Follow me 

To the tree. 

Where the birds of summer sang, 
There's a happy fellow there. 
For the cold he does not care, 

And he always calls to me, 

"Chickadee, chickadee!" 

31 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

He's a merry little fellow, 
Neither red nor blue nor yellow, 
For he wears a winter overcoat of gray; 
And his cheery little voice 
Makes my happy heart rejoice, 
While he calls the livelong day — 
Calls to me — 
"Chickadee!" 
From the leafless apple tree, 
"Chickadee, chickadee !" 

Then he hops from bough to twig, 
Tapping on each tiny sprig, 
Calling happily to me, 
"Chickadee!" 
He's a merry little fellow. 
Neither red nor blue nor yellow. 
He's the cheery bird of winter, 
"Chickadee!" 



Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 

Like seasoned timber, never gives ; 
But though the whole world turn to coal. 
Then chiefly lives. 

— George Herbert. 
32 



A SONG 

By James Whitcomb Riley 

There Is ever a song somewhere, my dear; 

There is ever a something sings alway : 
There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear, 

And the song of the thrush when the skies are 
gray. 
The sunshine showers across the grain. 

And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree ; 
And in and out, when the eaves drip rain. 

The swallows are twittering ceaselessly. 

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, 

Be the skies above or dark or fair. 
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear — 
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear — 

There is ever a song somewhere ! 

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, 
In the midnight black, or the mid-day blue ; 

The robin pipes when the sun is here, 

And the cricket chirrups the whole night through. 

33 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

The buds may blow, and the fruit may grow, 
And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear; 
' But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow. 
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear. 

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, 

Be the skies above or dark or fair, 
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear — 
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear — 
There is ever a song somewhere ! 



THE BLUEBIRD'S SONG 

By Emily Huntington Miller 

I know the song that the bluebird is singing. 
Out in the apple tree where he is swinging; 
Brave little fellow ! the skies may be dreary. 
Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery. 

Hark ! how the music leaps out of his throat ! 
Hark ! was there ever so merry a note ? 
Listen awhile, and you'll hear what he's saying, 
Up in the apple tree swinging and swaying. 
34 



CHEER 

"Dear little blossoms, down under the snow, 
You must be weary of winter, I know ; 
Hark ! while I sing you a message of cheer ! 
Summer is coming ! and springtime is here ! 

"Little white snowdrop ! I pray you arise ; 
Bright yellow crocus ! come, open your eyes ; 
Sweet little violets, hid from the cold, 
Put on your mantles of purple and gold ; 
Daffodils ! daffodils, say, do you hear ? — 
Summer is coming! and springtime is here!" 



THE VOICE OF THE GRASS 

By Sarah Roberts Boyle 

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; 

By the dusty roadside. 

On the sunny hillside, 

Close by the noisy brook. 

In every shady nook, 
I come creeping, creeping everywhere. 

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; 
All around the open door, 
35 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Where sit the aged poor. 
Here where the children play, 
In the bright, merry May, 
I come creeping, creeping everywhere. 

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; 

In the noisy city street, 

My pleasant face you'll meet 

Cheering the sick at heart. 

Toiling his busy part, 
Silently creeping, creeping everywhere. 

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere ; 

You can not see me coming, 

Nor hear my low, sweet humming ; 

For in the starry night, 

And the glad morning light, 
I come, quietly creeping everywhere. 

— Abridged. 



Fly away, fly away over the sea, 

Sun-loving swallow, for summer is done ; 
Come again, come again, come back to me. 
Bringing the summer and bringing the sun. 
— "The Swallow" Christina Rossetti. 
36 



ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION 
By Samuel Taylor Coleridge 

Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the 

dove, 
The linnet and thrush say, "I love, and I love !" 
In the winter they're silent, the wind is so strong ; 
What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song. 
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm 

weather, 
And singing and loving — all come back together. 
But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love, 
The green fields below him, the blue sky above. 
That he sings, and he sings, and for ever sings he, 
"I love my love and my love loves me." 



Sing, little bird, when the skies are blue, 
Sing, for the world has need of you, 
Sing when the skies are overcast. 
Sing when the rain is falling fast. 

Sing, happy heart, when the sun is warm. 
Sing in the winter's coldest storm, 
Sing little songs, O, heart so true, 
Sing, for the world has need of you. 

— Authorship Unknown. 

37 



THE STREAMLET 

By M. a. Stoddart 

I saw a little streamlet flow 

Along a peaceful vale; 
A thread of silver, soft and slow. 

It wandered down the dale. 
Just to do good it seemed to move, 
Directed by the hand of love. 

The valley smiled in living green ; 

A tree, which near it gave 
From noontide heat a friendly screen, 

Drank from its limpid wave. 
The swallow brushed it with her wing. 
And followed its meandering. 

But not alone to plant and bird, 
That little stream was known : 

Its gentle murmur far was heard : 
A friend's familiar tone ! 

It glided by the cottage door. 

It blessed the labor of the poor. 

38 



CHEER 

And would that I could thus be found, 
While traveling life's brief way, 

A humble friend to all around, 
Where'er my footsteps stray ; 

Like that pure stream, with tranquil breast, 

Like it, still blessing and still blest. 



TO THE SKYLARK 

By James Hogg 

Bird of the wilderness, 

Blithesome and cumberless, 
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 

Emblem of happiness, 

Blest is thy dwelling-place, 
Oh, to abide in the desert with thee ! 

Wild is thy lay, and loud. 
Far in the downy cloud ; 
39 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Love gives it energy — love gave it birth ! 

Where, on thy dewy wing — 

Where art thou journeying? 
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. 

O'er fell and fountain sheen, 

O'er moor and mountain green, 
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day ; 

Over the cloudlet dim, 

Over the rainbow's rim. 
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away ! 

Then, when the gloaming comes. 

Low in the heather blooms 
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! 

Emblem of happiness, 

Blest is thy dwelling-place. 
Oh, to abide in the desert with thee ! 



I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty ; 
I woke, and found that life was Duty. 
Was thy dream, then, a shadowy lie ? 
Toil on, poor heart, unceasingly ; 
And thou shalt find thy dream to be 
A truth and noonday light to thee. 

— Ellen Sturgis Hooper. 
40 



THE CRICKET 

By Charlotte Turner Smith 

Little inmate, full of mirth, 
Chirping on my kitchen hearth, 
Wheresoe'er be thine abode, 
Always harbinger of good. 
Pay me for thy warm retreat 
With a song more soft and sweet ; 
In return thou shalt receive 
Such a strain as I can give. 

Thus thy praise shall be expressed. 
Inoffensive, welcome guest ! 
While the rat is on the scout. 
And the mouse with curious snout. 
With what vermin else infest 
Every dish and spoil the best : 
Frisking thus before the fire, 
Thou hast all thy heart's desire. 

Though in voice and shape they be 
Formed as if akin to thee, 
41 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Thou surpassest, happier far 
Happiest grasshoppers that are : 
Theirs is but a summer's song, — 
Thine endures the winter long, 
Unimpaired and shrill and clear. 
Melody throughout the year. 



IF I WERE A SUNBEAM 

By Lucy Larcom 

If I were a sunbeam, 

I know what I'd do : 
I would seek white lilies 

Rainy woodlands through : 
I would steal among them. 

Softest light I'd shed. 
Until every lily 

Raised its drooping head. 

If I were a sunbeam, 
I know where I'd go : 

Into lowliest hovels, 

Park with want and woe : 
42 



CHEER 

Till sad hearts looked upward, 
I would shine and shine ; 

Then they'd think of heaven, 
Their sweet home and mine. 

Art thou not a sunbeam, 

Child whose life is glad 
iWith an inner radiance 

Sunshine never had ? 
Oh, as God has blessed thee. 

Scatter rays divine ! 
For there is no sunbeam 

But must die, or shine. 



"A merry heart doeth good like a medicine." 

— From the Bible. 



43 



SILENT INFLUENCE 



THE BLUEBELL 

By Julia A. Eastman 

There is a story I have heard, — 
A poet learned it from a bird. 
And kept its music, every word — 
A story of a deep ravine. 
O'er which the towering tree-tops lean. 
With one blue rift of sky between. 

And there, two thousand years ago, 
A little flower, as white as snow. 
Swayed in the silence to and fro. 
Day after day, with longing eye. 
The floweret watched the narrow sky. 
Arid fleecy clouds that floated by. 

Through the darkness, night by night. 
One gleaming star would climb the height 
And cheer the lonely floweret's sight. 
47 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Thus, watching the blue heavens afar. 
And the rising of its favorite star, 
A slow change came, but not to mar ; 

For softly o'er its petals white 
There crept a blueness, like the light 
Of skies, upon a summer's night : 
And in its chalice, I am told. 
The bonny bell was found to hold 
A tiny star, that gleamed like gold. 



LITTLE WHITE LILY 

By George Macdonald 

Little white Lily sat by a stone. 
Drooping and waiting till the sun shone. 
Little white Lily sunshine has fed ; 
Little white Lily is lifting her head. 

Little white Lily droopeth with pain, 
iWaiting and waiting for the wet rain ; 
Little white Lily holdeth her cup, 
Rain is fast falling, and filling it up. 
48 



SILENT INFLUENCE 

Little white Lily smells very sweet ; 
On her head sunshine ; rain at her feet. 
Thanks to the sunshine, thanks to the rain, 
Little white Lily is happy again. 



THE ARROW AND THE SONG 

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

I shot an arrow into the air. 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song into the air. 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For who has sight so keen and strong. 
That it can follow the flight of song? 

Long, long afterward, in an oak 
I found the arrow, still unbroke ; 
And the song, from beginning to end, 
I found again in the heart of a friend. 
49 



THE GREAT ARTIST 

In a secluded mountain town on a cliff on the east 
slope of the Apennines directly east of Florence was 
born into this world the most loved of all painters. 
His parents, thinking ever of the best things and 
most of all how to care for this great gift God had 
sent to them, reared their little son so as to develop 
his natural tenderness and sweeten his disposition. 

The people in this section of country led simple 
lives, free from the excitement of commercial towns. 
Here in this delightful country under the careful 
guidance of wise, loving parents, the boy Raphael 
grew to love the beauties of nature and of human 
nature. He learned of the beautiful character of 
that purest of men, Saint Francis, who had lived 
and labored in the village not far away. 

After eight years of loving watchfulness over her 
little son the mother died and left him to the care of 
his fond father alone. After a time a kind step- 
mother came into the family who loved the boy as 
her own child. 

His happy ramblings in the woods near by, and 
the hours spent with his father reading books of 

50 



SILENT INFLUENCE 

poetry, increased the boy's power of thought till he 
was impelled to give to the world more beauty. 

This was an ideal childhood, a fit beginning for a 
life which was to grow strong in many forms of 
art. 

He became a pupil in a great studio, painting as 
his backgrounds always the scenes so loved in his 
childhood. 

He made many friends by his conversation in the 
studio, as his talk was always on engaging subjects 
of art. 

He was the most successful artist in representing 
the Child Jesus and His lovely mother. 

His color is so pure and beautiful that he is con- 
sidered the greatest colorist of the world. 

The Pope received the young painter cordially and 
Raphael was allowed to decorate the Vatican with 
his beautiful paintings. His pictures of saints, es- 
pecially that of St. Cecelia, are among the choicest. 

He grew to be not only a painter, but a sculptor, 
an architect, a poet and a musician. 

In his thirty-seventh year he died suddenly, leav- 
ing an unfinished picture, which at his funeral was 
hung above his coffin. His body was buried with 
honors at Rome. — Adapted. 

51 



CONSIDERATION FOR BIRDS 
AND ANIMALS 



THE BIRDS MUST KNOW 

By Helen Hunt Jackson 

The birds must know. Who wisely sings 

Will sing as they ; 
The common air has generous wings, 

Songs make their way. 
No messenger to run before, 

Devising plan; 
No mention of the place or hour 

To any man; 
No waiting till some sound betrays 

A listening ear ; 
No different voice, no new delays, 

H steps draw near. 
"What bird is that ? Its song is good." 

And eager eyes 
Go peering through the dusky wood. 

In glad surprise. 
55 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Then late at night, when by his fire 

The traveler sits, 
Watching the flame grow brighter, higher, 

The sweet song flits 
By snatches through his weary brain 

To help him rest; 
iWhen next he goes that road again 

An empty nest 
On leafless bough will make him sigh, 

"Ah me ! last spring 
Just here I heard, in passing by. 

That rare bird sing!" 

But while he sighs, remembering 

How sweet the song, 
The little bird on tireless wing. 

Is borne along 
In other air ; and other men 

With weary feet, 
On other roads, the simple strain 

Are finding sweet. 
The birds must know. Who wisely sings 

Will sing as they ; 
The common air has generous wings. 

Songs make their way. 
56 



THE DAISY AND THE LARK 

By Hans Christian Andersen 

In the country, close by the roadside, stood a 
pleasant house. In front lay a little garden, enclosed 
by a fence, and fully of blossoming flowers. Near 
the hedge, in the soft green grass, grew a little daisy. 
The sun shone as brightly and warmly upon her as 
it shone upon the large and beautiful garden flowers. 

The daisy grew from day to day. Every morning 
she unfolded her little white rays, and lifted up a 
/little golden sun in the center of her blossom. She 
never remembered how little she was. She never 
thought that she was hidden down in the grass, while 
the tall, beautiful flowers grew in the garden. 

The little daisy was as happy as if it were a great 
holiday, and yet it was only Monday. All the chil- 
dren were at school; and while they sat on their 
benches learning, it sat on its little green stalk, and 
learned also from the warm sun, and from all 
around, how good God is. And the daisy was very 
glad that everything it silently felt was sung so 
loudly and charmingly by the lark. The daisy 

57 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

looked up with respect to the happy bird who could 
sing and fly ; but it was not at all sorrowful because 
it could not fly and sing also. 

"I can see and hear," it thought ; "the sun shines 
on me, and the forest kisses me. Oh, how richly have 
I been gifted !" 

Within the palings stood many stiff, aristocratic 
flowers — the less scent they had the more they 
flaunted. The peonies blew themselves out to be 
greater than the roses, but size will not do it ; the 
tulips had the most splendid colors, and they knew 
that, and held themselves bolt upright, that they 
might be seen more plainly. They did not notice the 
little daisy outside there, but the daisy looked at 
them the more, and thought, "How rich and beauti- 
ful they are ! Yes, the pretty birds fly across to them, 
and visit them. I am glad that I stand so near them, 
for at any rate I can enjoy the sight of their splen- 
dor!" And just as she thought that — "keevit!" — 
down came flying the lark, but not down to the 
peonies and tulips — no, down into the grass to the 
lowly daisy, which started so with joy that it did not 
know what to think. 

The little bird danced round about it, and sang: 
"Oh, how soft the grass is ! and see what a lovely lit- 

58 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

tie flower, with gold In its heart and, silver on its 
dress!" 

For the yellow point in the daisy looked like gold, 
and the little leaves around it shone silvery white. 

How happy was the little daisy — no one can con- 
ceive how happy! The bird kissed it with its beak, 
sang to it, and then flew up again into the blue air. A 
quarter of an hour passed, at least, before the daisy 
could recover itself. Half ashamed, and yet in- 
wardly rejoiced, it looked at the other flowers in the 
garden ; for they had seen the honor it had gained, 
and must understand what a joy it was. But the 
tulips stood up twice as stiff as before, and they 
looked peaky in the face and quite red, for they had 
been vexed. The peonies were wrong-headed ; it was 
well they could not speak, or the daisy would have 
received a good scolding. 

When the sun was set, she folded up her leaves 
and went to sleep. All night long she dreamed of 
the warm sun and the pretty little bird. 

The next morning, when she stretched out her 
white leaves to the warm air and the light, she heard 
the voice of the lark, but his song was sad. 

Poor little lark ! He might well be sad ; he had 
been made a prisoner in a cage that hung by the open 

59 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

window. He sang of the happ)^ time when he could 
fly in the air, joyous and free. 

The Httle daisy wished that she could help him. 
What could she do? She forgot all the beautiful 
things about her — the warm sunshine, the soft 
breeze, and the shining leaves. She could only think 
of the poor bird and wish that she might help him. 

Just then two boys came into the garden. They 
came straight to the daisy. One of them carried a 
sharp knife in his hand. 

"We can cut a nice piece of turf for the lark here," 
he saidv 

And he cut out a square piece of turf around the 
daisy, so that the little flower stood in the center. 

"How bright the daisy looks! Let us leave it 
there." 

He carried the piece of turf with the daisy grow- 
ing in it, and placed it in the lark's cage. The poor 
bird was beating his wings against the iron bars of 
his cage, and the daisy wished that she could speak to 
him. 

"There is no water," said the captive lark. "They 
are all gone out, and have forgotten to give me any- 
thing to drink. My throat is dry and burning. It is 
like fire and ice within me, and the air is close. Oh, 

60 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

must I die? I must leave the warm sunshine, the 
fresh green, and all the splendor that God has cre- 
ated!" 

And he thrust his beak into the cool turf to re- 
fresh himself a little with it. Then the bird's eye 
fell upon the daisy, and he nodded to it, and kissed 
it with his beak, and said : "You also must wither In 
here, you poor little thing. They have given you to 
me with a little patch of green grass on which you 
grow, instead of the whole world which was mine 
out there ! Every little blade of grass shall be a great 
tree for me, and every one of your fragrant leaves a 
great flower. Ah, you only tell me how much I have 
lost!" 

"If I could only comfort him!" thought the little 
daisy. It could not stir a leaf; but the scent which 
streamed forth from its delicate leaves was far 
stronger than is generally found in these flowers ; the 
bird also noticed that, and though he was fainting 
with thirst, and in his pain plucked up the green 
blades of grass, he did not touch the flower. 

The evening came, and yet nobody arrived to 
bring the poor bird a drop of water. Then he 
stretched out his pretty wings and beat the air fran- 
tically with them; his song changed to a mournful 

6i 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

piping, his little head sank down toward the flower, 
and the bird's heart broke with want and yearning. 
Then the flower could not fold its leaves, as it had 
done on the previous evening, and sleep ; it drooped, 
sorrowful and sick, toward the earth. 

Not till the next morning did the boys come ; and 
when they found the bird dead they wept — wept 
many tears — and dug him a grave, which they 
adorned with leaves of flowers. The bird's little body 
was put into a pretty red box, for he was to be roy- 
ally buried— the poor bird ! While he was alive and 
sang they forgot him, and let him sit in his cage and 
suffer want ; but now that he was dead he had adorn- 
ment and many tears. 

But the patch of turf with the daisy on it was 
thrown out into the high road ; no one thought of the 
flower that had felt the most for the little bird, and 
would have been so glad to console him ? — Adapted. 



I'm truly sorry man's dominion, 

Has broken nature's social union, 

And justifies the ill opinion 

Which makes thee startle 

At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

And fellow-mortal ! 

— "To a Mouse," Robert Burns. 
62 



THE BROWN THRUSH 

By Lucy Larcom 

There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree ; 
He's singing to me ! he's singing to me ! 
And what does he say, Httle girl, Httle boy? 
"Oh! the world's running over with joy! 

Don't you hear? don't you see? 

Hush ! look ! in my tree 

I'm as happy as happy can be." 
And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do 

you see, 
And five eggs hid by me in the big cherry-tree? 
Don't meddle ! don't touch ! little girl, little boy. 
Or the world will lose some of its joy ! 

Now I'm glad! now I'm free! 

And I always shall be, 

If you never bring sorrow to me." 
So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, 
To you and to me, to you and to me; 
And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy : 
"Oh, the world's running over with joy! 

But long it won't be, 
63 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Don't you know? don't you see? 
Unless we're as good as can be !" 



THE SPARROW'S NEST 
By H. Weir 

One day I chanced to pass through a small village 
just as the boys of the school were playing their 
noonday game of ball. 

I watched them with pleasure, for they were very 
skilful at their game. Soon I heard loud shouts 
of "Look out! Take care! Mind where you're 
going!" whenever a boy went near a certain spot 
which was within a few yards of one of the bases.^ 

I asked one of the party what these cries meant. 
His answer was, "Oh, that is our sparrow, sir!" 
On further inquiry, I found that, some days before, 
the boys had discovered a ground sparrow's nest 
in the grass close to their ball ground. 

One of the boys had suggested that the school 
should take the bird and her nest under their especial 
care. The plan was agreed to at once, and it had 
become their daily business to see that all was right 

64 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

with the sparrow, and to guard her nest during the 
game. 

The boys told me, with great glee, that four 
birds were just hatched, and, pointing to the spot, 
one shouted, "Look, sir — there she is, feeding them 
now !" It was indeed true. 

In spite of the noisy game, the crowd of boys, 
and the ball flying close overhead or rolling near, 
the mother bird was hopping toward her nest with 
some morsel for her little ones. 

Afterward I again saw her going to and from 
the nest without showing the least sign of fear. 
It was plain she understood the good will of the 
boys, and trusted it for herself and her young. 



My fairest child, I have no song to give you ; 

No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray : 
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you 
For every day. 

Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever, 
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long : 
And so make life, death and that vast for ever 
One grand, sweet song. 

— Charles Kingsley. 

65 



THE DOVES OF VENICE 

By Laura Winthrop Johnson 

I stood in the quiet piazza. 
Where come rude noises never; 

But the feet of children, the wings of doves, 
Are sounding on forever. 

And the cooing of their soft voices. 
And the touch of the rippling sea, 

And the ringing clock of the armed knight. 
Came through the noon to me. 

While their necks with rainbow gleaming, 
'Neath the dark old arches shone. 

And the campanile's shadow long, 
Moved o'er the pavement stone. 

And from every coign of vantage, 

Where lay some hidden nest. 
They fluttered, peeped, and glistened forth, 

Sacred, serene, at rest. 
66 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

I thought of thy saint, O Venice! 
Who said in his tenderness, 
**I love thy birds, my Father dear. 
Our lives they cheer and bless! 

"For love is not for men only; 
To the tiniest little things 
Give room to nestle in our hearts ; 
Give freedom to all v^ings !" 

And the lovely, still piazza, 

Seemed with his presence blest. 

And I, and the children, and the doves, 
Partakers of his rest. 



WEBSTER'S FIRST SPEECH 

Daniel Webster's father was a farmer and Daniel 
and his brother, Ezekiel, used to help about the 
farm. 

A woodchuck which had been stealing from the 
garden was one day caught in a trap set for him by 
Ezekiel. 

"We'll kill the thief," cried Ezekiel to Daniel. 
"He's done mischief enough." 

67 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

The kind-hearted Daniel begged for the life of 
the poor little animal. 

The two brothers being unable to agree, referred 
the case to their father. 

The little prisoner was brought before Mr. Web- 
ster for trial. 

Ezekiel spoke first, telling of the harm the wood- 
chuck had done and of the trouble he had had to 
catch him and how he would likely return to his 
bad habits if set free. "He must die," said Ezekiel, 
"and we can then sell his skin." 

Daniel was afraid his brother had won, but look- 
ing his father full in the face, he began : "The wood- 
chuck has a right to live. Ezekiel forgets that God 
made him. He only eats a little of our corn, and 
I'm sure we have enough. Why shouldn't he run 
in the fields in the sunshine? He kills nothing. 
How can he be blamed for getting a little food? 
See how the timid little fellow trembles ! Poor little 
dumb creature, he can not defend himself. Give 
him back his freedom !" 

After a pause, the old father, with tears in his 
eyes, commanded : " 'Zeke, 'Zeke, let that wood- 
chuck go !" 

— Adapted. 
68 



IF EVER I SEE 

By Lydia Maria Child 

If ever I see. 

On bush or tree, 
[Young birds in their pretty nest, 

I must not, in play. 

Steal the birds away. 
To grieve their mother's breast. 

My mother, I know. 

Would sorrow so. 
Should I be stolen away; 

So I'll speak to the birds 

In my softest words, 
Nor hurt them in my play. 

And when they can fly 
In the bright blue sky. 

They'll warble a song to me ; 
And then if I'm sad. 
It will make me glad 

iTo think they are happy and free. 
69 



ANDROCLUS AND THE LION 

By James Baldwin 

In Rome there was once a poor slave whose name 
was Androclus. His master was a cruel man, and so 
unkind to him that at last Androclus ran away. 

He hid himself in a wild wood for many days; 
but there was no food to be found, and he grew so 
weak and sick that he thought he should die. So one 
day he crept into a cave and lay down, and soon he 
was fast asleep. 

After a while a great noise woke him up. A lion 
had come into the cave, and was roaring loudly. 
Androclus was very much afraid, for he felt sure 
that the beast would kill him. Soon, however, he saw 
that the lion was not angry, but that he limped as 
though his foot hurt him. 

Then Androclus grew so bold that he took hold of 
the lion's lame paw to see what was the matter. The 
lion stood quite still, and rubbed his head against the 
man's shoulder. He seemed to say, *T know that 
you will help me." 

70 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

Androclus lifted the paw from the ground and 
saw that it was a long, sharp thorn that hurt the 
lion so much. He took the end of the thorn in his 
fingers ; then he gave a strong, quick pull, and out it 
came. The lion was full of joy. He jumped about 
like a dog, and licked the hands and feet of his new 
friend. 

Androclus was not at all afraid after this; and 
when night came, he and the lion lay down and slept 
«side by side. 

For, a long time the lion brought food to An- 
droclus every day; and the two became such good 
friends that Androclus found his new life a very 
happy one. 

One day some soldiers who were passing through 
the wood found Androclus in the cave. They knew 
who he was, and so took him back to Rome. 

It was the law at that time that every slave who 
ran away from his master should be made to fight a 
hungry lion. So a fierce lion was shut up for a while 
without food, and a time was set for the fight. 

When the day came, thousands of people crowded 
to see the sport. They went to such places at that 
time much as people nowadays go to a circus or a 
game of baseball. 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

The door opened and poor Androclus was brought 
in. He was almost dead with fear, for the roars of 
the Hon could already be heard. He looked up, and 
saw that there was no pity in the thousands of faces 
around him. 

Then the hungry lion rushed in. With a single 
bound he reached the poor slave. Androclus gave a 
great cry, not of fear, but of gladness. It was his 
old friend, the lion of the cave. 

The people who had expected to see the man killed 
by the lion were filled with wonder. They saw An- 
droclus put his arms around the lion's neck; they 
saw the lion lie down at his feet, and lick them lov- 
ingly ; they saw the great beast rub his head against 
the slave's face as though he wanted to be petted. 
They could not understand what it all meant. 

After a while they asked Androclus to tell them 
about it. So he stood up before them, and, with his 
arm around the lion's neck, told how he and the 
beast had lived together in the cave. 

*T am a man," he said ; "but no man has ever be- 
friended me. This poor lion only has been kind to 
me; and we love each other as brothers." 

The people were not so bad that they could be 
72 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

cruel to the poor slave now. "Live and be free !" they 
cried. "Live and be free !" 

Others cried, "Let the lion go free too ! Give both 
of them their liberty!" 

And so Androclus was set free, and the lion was 
given to him for his own. And they lived together 
in Rome for many years. 



WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S-NEST? 

By Lydia Maria Child 

Te-whit! te-whit! te-whee! 
Will you listen to me? 
Who stole four eggs I laid. 
And the nice nest I made ? 

Not I, said the cow, moo-oo! 
Such a thing I'd never do. 
I gave for you a wisp of hay. 
And did not take your nest away. 
Not I, said the cow, moo-oo ! 
Such a thing I'd never do. 
73 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Not I, said the dog, bow-wow ! 
I wouldn't be so mean as that, now. 
I gave hairs the nest to make, 
But the nest I did not take. 
Not I, said the dog, bow-wow ! 
I wouldn't be so mean as that, now. 

Not I, said the sheep. Oh, no! 
I wouldn't treat a poor bird so ! 
I gave the wool the nest to line, 
But the nest was none of mine. 
Baa ! baa ! said the sheep ; Oh, no, 
I wouldn't treat a poor bird so. 

I would not rob a bird, 

Said little Mary Green ; 
I think I never heard 

Of any thing so mean. 
'TIs very cruel, too. 

Said little Alice Neal; 
I wonder If she knew 

How sad the bird would feel ? 

A little boy hung down his head, 
And went and hid behind the bed, 
74 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

For he stole that pretty nest 
From poor Httle yellow-breast; 
And he felt so full of shame 
He didn't like to tell his name. 



THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS DINNER 

In most of the provinces of Norway there is a 
pretty custom of feeding the wild birds on Christmas 
day. All the animals belonging to a family have 
double their usual dinner, and share in a festival. 

The kind-hearted peasants also fasten up wisps of 
oatstraw all about their houses for the birds, who are 
quick to tell each other the news, and flock down 
in great numbers to peck at the grain. 

In the town, great bunches of unthreshed oats are 
brought to the market-place; and, no matter how 
poor the people are, they will be sure to have one bit 
of money saved to buy the birds a feast. 

The little sheaves are seen fastened on the house- 
tops and outside the windows; and nobody in Nor- 
way would frighten a bird that day, if he could 
help it. 

It is certainly worth while to make the least of 
7^ 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

God's creatures happy; and many of those fowls of 
the air who do not gather into bams are good ser- 
vants of the farmer, and eat up the Insects that 
would destroy his crops. 

Suppose the boys and girls take a lesson from the 
Norwegians this year, and throw out a dinner of 
crumbs for some of the birds, and tie a bunch of 
grain here and there on the trees and fences for the 
wanderers who may need food in the cold winter 
days that are to come. 

LOST— THREE LITTLE ROBINS 

By Mrs. C. F. Berry 

Oh, where is the boy, dressed In jacket of gray, 
Who climbed up a tree in the orchard to-day. 
And carried my three little birdies away? 
They hardly were dressed. 
When he took from the nest 
My three little robins, and left me bereft. 

O wrens ! have you seen, In your travels to-day, 
A very small boy, dressed in jacket of gray. 
Who carried my three little robins away ? 
76 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

He had light-colored hair. 
And his feet were both bare. 
Ah me ! he was cruel and mean, I declare. 

O butterfly ! stop just one moment, I pray : 
Have you seen a boy dressed in jacket of gray. 
Who carried my three little birdies away? 

He had pretty blue eyes, 

And was small of his size. 
Ah ! he must be wicked, and not very wise. 

O bees ! with your bags of sweet nectarine, stay ; 
Have you seen a boy, dressed in jacket of gray, 
And carrying three little birdies away? 

Did he go through the town. 

Or go sneaking around 
Through hedges and byways, with head hanging 
down? 

O boy with blue eyes, dressed in jacket of gray ! 
If you will bring back my three robins to-day. 
With sweetest of music the gift I'll repay; 

I'll sing all day long 

My merriest song, 
And I will forgive you this terrible wrong. 

17 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Bobolinks ! did you see my birdies and me — 
How happy we were on the old apple-tree? 
Until I was robbed of my young, as you see ? 

Oh, how can I sing, 

Unless he will bring 
My three robins back, to sleep under my wing ? 



THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH 

Retold From Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

It was the season when through all the land the 
birds build, and building, sing their lovely songs; 
when on the boughs the purple buds burst and rivu- 
lets rejoicing rush and leap. 

The robin and the bluebird filled all the blossom- 
ing orchards with their glee. The sparrows chirped, 
the hungry crows assembled in a crowd, the birds 
of passage sailed, speaking some strange language. 

Thus came the spring to the little town of Killing- 
worth. The thrifty farmers as they tilled the earth 
heard with alarm the cawing of the crow and shook 
their heads, and promised that all the birds should 
die soon, the whole race of birds. 

78 



"; BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

A town meeting was called to determine how and 
when the destruction should begin. 

The squire came to the meeting and the parson 
came; the teacher in the academy came, too, and 
the deacon and many farmers from the region 
round. 

The squire presided, dignified and tall. Ill fared 
it with the birds both great and small. Hardly a 
friend in all that crowd they found; but enemies 
enough there were who charged them with all the 
crimes beneath the sun. 

When they had ended, from his place apart arose 
the teacher and spoke out clear and strong, regard- 
less of their smiles and frowns and quite determined 
not to be laughed down. "You put to death the 
birds ? the musicians of the heavenly city ? the birds 
who make sweet music to us all? the thrush that 
carols at the dawn of day from the green steeples 
of the piny wood; the oriole in the elm; the noisy 
jay; the bluebird balanced on some topmost bough 
flooding with melody the neighborhood; the linnet 
and the meadow-lark and all the throng that dwell 
in nests and have the gift of song? You slay them 
all! and wherefore? For the gain of a few scant 
handfuls more or less of wheat, or rye, or barle}^ 

79 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

scratched up at random by their industrious feet,' 
searching for the worm or weevil after a rain, or 
a few cherries that are not so sweet as the songs 
these uninvited guests sing. Did you ever think 
who made these birds and taught them how to sing? 
Think every morning when the sun peeps into the 
woods how happy the birds are! Think of your 
woods and orchards without birds, of empty nests 
that cling to boughs and beams ! What would you 
rather have : the Insects, the locusts and the grass- 
hoppers; or the birds that drive these foes away 
from your harvest fields? Even the -blackest of 
them, the crow, renders good service crushing the 
beetles." 

As he closed a murmur went round. The farmers 
laughed and shook their heads. 

The birds were doomed ! A price was offered for 
the heads of crows. And so the massacre began. 
Dead fell the birds with bloodstains on their breasts, 
while the young died of famine in their nests. 

The summer came and all the birds were dead. 
The days were like hot coals and many caterpillars 
fed in the orchards; devouring insects crawled in 
garden beds, with no foe to check them till they 
made the land a desert without leaf or shade. 

80 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

The farmers grew impatient, but a few confessed 
their wrong. 

' The next spring a strange thing was seen — a 
wagon overarched with evergreens upon whose 
boughs were' wicker cages hung all full of singing 
birds, came down the street, filling the air with 
music wild and sweet. From all the country round 
these birds were brought by order of the town, and 
loosed from their wicker prisons, sought in woods 
and fields the places they loved best. Their son^gs 
burst forth in joyous overflow, and a new heaven 
bent over a new earth- .amid the sunny farms of 
Killingworth. 



A PRAYER 
By Emily B. Lord 

Maker of earth and sea and sky. 

Creation's sovereign. Lord and King, 

Who hung the starry worlds on high. 
And formed alike the sparrow's wing : 

Bless the dumb creatures of Thy care. 

And listen to their voiceless prayer. 
8i 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

For us they toil, for us they die. 

These humble creatures Thou hast made; 
How shall we dare their rights deny, 

On whom Thy seal of love is laid ? 
Teach Thou our hearts to hear their plea. 
As Thou dost man's in prayer to Thee! 



A HORSE'S STORY 

By Anna Sewell 

I shall never forget my new master ; he had black 
eyes and a hooked nose; his mouth was as full of 
teeth as a bulldog's, and his voice was as harsh as 
the grinding of cart wheels over gravel stones. His 
name was Nicholas Skinner. 

Skinner had a low set of cabs and a low set of 
drivers ; he was hard on the men, and the men were 
hard on the horses. Much as I had seen before, I 
never knew until now the utter misery of a cab 
horse's life. In this place we had no Sunday rest, 
and it was in the heat of summer. 

Sometimes on a Sunday morning a party of young 
men would hire the cab for the day; four of them 

82 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

inside and another with the driver, and I had to take 
them ten or fifteen miles out into the country, and 
back again; never would any of them get down to 
walk up a hill, let it be ever so steep, or the day ever 
so hot — unless, indeed, when the driver was afraid I 
could not manage it, and sometimes I was so fevered 
and worn that I could hardly touch my food. How 
I used to long for the nice bran mash with niter in it 
that Jerry used to give us on Saturday nights in hot 
v/eather, that used to cool us down and make us so 
comfortable ! Then we had two nights and a whole 
day for unbroken rest, and on Monday morning we 
were as fresh as young horses again ; but here there 
was no rest, and my driver was just as hard as his 
master. He had a cruel whip with something so 
sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood, and 
he would even cut me under the body, and flip the 
lash out at my head. Treatment hke this took the 
heart out of me terribly, but still I did my best and 
never hung back; for it was no use; men are the 
strongest. 

My life was now so utterly wretched that I wished 
I might drop down dead at my work, and be out of 
my misery ; and one day my wish very nearly came 
to pass. 

83 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

I went on the stand at eight in the morning, and 
had done a good share of work when we had to take 
a passenger to the railway. A long train was just 
expected in, so my driver pulled up at the back of 
some of the outside cabs to take the chance of a re- 
turn passenger. It was a very heavy train, and our 
cab was soon called for. 

It was engaged by a party of four : a noisy, blus- 
tering man with a lady, a little boy, and a young 
girl, and a great deal of luggage. The lady and the 
boy got into the cab, and while the man gave orders 
about the luggage, the young girl came and looked 
at me. 

"Papa," she said, "I am sure this poor horse can 
not take us and all our luggage so far ; he is so weak 
and worn out ; do look at him !" 

"Oh, he's all right, miss!" said my driver; "he's 
strong enough." 

The porter, who was pulling about some heavy- 
boxes, asked the gentleman, as there was so much 
luggage, whether he would not take a second cab. 

"Can your horse do it, or can't he ?" said the blus- 
tering man. 

"Oh, he can do it all right, sir ; send up the boxes, 
porter ; he could take more than that," and he helped 

84 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

to haul up a box so heavy that I could feel the 
springs go down. 

"Papa, papa, do take a second cab," said the young 
girl. "I am sure we are wrong ; I am sure it Is very 
cruel." 

"Nonsense, Grace ; get in at once, and don't make 
all this fuss ; a pretty thing it would be if a man of 
business had to examine every cab horse before he 
hired it — the man knows his own business, of 
course ; there, get in and hold your tongue !" 

My gentle friend had to obey ; and box after box 
was dragged up and put on the top of the cab, or set- 
tled by the side of the driver. At last all was ready, 
and with his usual jerk at the rein, and slash of the 
whip, he drove out of the station. 

The load was very heavy, and I had had neither 
food nor rest since morning ; but I did my best, as I 
always had done, in spite of cruelty and injustice. 

I got along fairly till we came to Ludgate Hill, but 
there the heavy load and my own exhaustion were 
too much. I was struggling to keep on, when, in a 
single moment, — I can not tell how, — my feet 
slipped from under me, and I fell heavily. 

The suddenness and the force with which I fell 
seemed to beat all the breath out of my body. I lay 

85 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

perfectly still ; indeed I had no power to move, and 
I thought now I was going to die. I heard a con- 
fusion round me, loud, angry voices, and the getting 
down of the luggage, but it was all like a dream. I 
thought I heard that sweet, pitiful voice saying, "It 
is all our fault." 

Then some one came and loosened the throat 
strap of my bridle, and undid the traces which kept 
the collar so tight upon me. Some one said, "He's 
dead ; he'll never get up again." Then I could hear 
a policeman giving orders, but I did not even open 
my eyes; I could only draw a gasping breath now 
and then. Some cold water was poured over my 
head, and some cordial was poured into my mouth, 
and a cover was put over me. 

I can not tell how long I lay there, but I found 
my life coming back, and a kind-voiced man was 
patting me and encouraging me to rise. After some 
more cordial had been given to me, and after one 
or two attempts, I staggered to my feet, and was 
gently led to some stables which were close by. Here 
I was put into a well-littered stall, and some warm 
gruel was brought to me, which I drank thankfully. 

In the evening I was a little better and was led 
back to Skinner's stables, where I think they did the 

86 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

best for me they could. In the morning Skinner 
came with a farrier to look at me. He examined 
me very closely, and said : 

"This Is a case of overwork more than disease, 
and If you could give him a run off for six months 
he would be able to work again ; but now there is not 
an ounce of strength In him." 

"Then he must go to the dogs," said Skinner. "I 
have no meadows to nurse sick horses In. He might 
get well or he might not ; that sort of thing doesn't 
suit my business. My plan Is to work 'em as long as 
they'll go, and then sell 'em for what they'll fetch." 

"If he was broken-winded," said the farrier, "it 
would be better to have him killed at once, but he is 
not. There is a sale of horses coming off In about 
ten days ; if you rest him and feed him up, he may 
pick up, and you may get more than his skin Is 
worth at any rate." 

So Skinner, rather unwillingly, I think, gave or- 
ders that I should be well fed and cared for, and the 
stableman, happily for me, carried out the orders 
with a good will. Ten days of perfect rest, plenty 
of good oats, hay, and bran mashes did more to get 
up my condition than anything else could have done. 
Those mashes were delicious. 

87 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

I began to think, after all, it might be better to 
live than to go to the dogs. When the twelfth day 
after the accident came, I was taken to the sale, a 
few miles out of London. I felt that any change 
from my present place must be an improvement, so 
I held up my head and hoped for the best. 

At this sale I found myself in company with the 
broken down horses— some lame, some broken- 
winded, some old, and some that it would have been 
merciful to shoot. Coming from the better part of 
the fair I noticed a man who looked like a gentle- 
man farmer, with a young boy by his side. 

"There's a horse, Willie, that has known better 
days." 

"Poor old fellow !" said the boy ; "do you think, 
grandpapa, he was ever a carriage horse ?" 

"Oh, yes, my boy!" said the farmer; "he might 
have been anything when he was young; there's a 
deal of breeding about that horse." He put out his 
hand and gave me a kind pat on the neck. I put out 
my nose in answer to his kindness ; the boy stroked 
my face. 

"Poor old fellow! see, grandpapa, how well he 
understands kindness ! Could not you buy him and 
make him young again as you did with Ladybird ?" 

88 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

So the kind old gentleman bought me, and I was 
then gently ridden home by a servant of my new 
master's, and turned into a large meadow with a 
shed in one comer of it. 

Mr, Thoroughgood, for that was the name of my 
kind friend, gave orders that I should have hay and 
oats every night and morning, and the run of the 
meadow during the day, and "You, Willie," said 
he, "must take the oversight of him; I give him in 
charge to you." 

The boy was proud of his charge. There was not 
a day when he did not pay me a visit. He always 
came with kind words and caresses, and of course I 
grew very fond of him. He called me Old Crony, 
as I used to come to him in the field and follow him 
about. Sometimes he brought his grandfather, who 
always looked closely at my legs. 

"This is our weak point, Willie," he would say; 
"but he is improving so steadily that I think we 
shall see a change for the better in the spring." 

The perfect rest, the good food, the soft turf, and 
gentle exercise, soon began to tell on my condition 
and spirits. I had a good constitution from my 
mother, and I was never strained when I was young, 
so that I had a better chance than many horses who 

89 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

have been worked before they come to their full 
strength. During the winter my legs improved so 
much that I began to feel well again. The spring 
came round, and one day in March Mr. Thorough- 
good said that he would try me in the phaeton. I 
was well pleased, and he and Willie drove me a few 
miles. My legs were not stiff now, and I did the 
work with perfect ease. 

"He's growing young, Willie; we must give him 
a little work now, and by midsummer he will be as 
good as Ladybird. He has a beautiful mouth, and 
good paces; they can't be better." 

"O grandpapa, how glad I am you bought him!" 

"So am I, my boy ; but he has to thank you more 
than me; we must now be looking out for a quiet, 
genteel place for him where he will be valued." 

One day during the summer the groom cleaned 
and dressed me with such great care that I thought 
some new change must be at hand ; he trimmed my 
fetlocks and legs, passed the tar brush over my 
hoofs, and even parted my forelock. I think the 
harness had an extra polish. Willie seemed half 
anxious, half merry, as he got into the chaise. 

"H the ladies take to him," said the old gentle- 
man, "they'll be suited, and he'll be suited." 

90 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

At a distance of a mile or two from the village 
we came to a pretty, low house, with a lawn and 
shrubbery at the front, and a drive up to the door. 
Willie rang the bell and asked if Miss Blomefield or 
Miss Ellen was at home. Yes, they were. So, 
while Willie stayed with me, Mr. Thoroughgood 
went into the house. In about ten minutes he re- 
turned, followed by three ladies. They all came 
and looked at me and asked questions. The younger 
lady — that was Miss Ellen — took to me very much ; 
she said she was sure she should like me, I had such 
a good face. The tall, pale lady said that she should 
always be nervous in riding behind a horse that had 
once been down, as I might come down again. 

*'You see, ladies," said Mr. Thoroughgood, 
"many first-rate horses have had their knees broken 
through the carelessness of their drivers, without 
any fault of their own, and from what I see of this 
horse I should say that is his case. If you wish, 
you can have him on trial, and then your coachman 
will see what he thinks of him." 

It was then arranged that I should be sent for the 
next day. 

In the morning a young man came for me, and I 
was led to my new home, placed in a comfortable 

91 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

stable, fed, and left to myself. The next day, when 
my groom was cleaning my face, he said : 

"That is just like the star that 'Black Beauty' had ; 
he is much the same height, too ; I wonder where he 
is now." 

A little further on, he came to the place in my 
neck where I was bled, and where a little knot was 
left in the skin. He almost started, and began to 
look me over carefully, talking to himself. 

"White star in the forehead, one white foot on 
the off side, this little knot just in that place;" then 
looking at the middle of my back — "and as I am 
alive, there is that little patch of white hair that John 
used to call 'Beauty's threepenny bit.' It must be 
Black Beauty! Why, Beauty! Beauty! do you 
know me? little Joe Green that almost killed you?" 
And he began patting and patting me as if he was 
quite overjoyed. 

I could not say that I remembered him, for now 
he was a fine grown young fellow, with black whisk- 
ers and a man's voice, but I was sure he knew me, 
and that he was Joe Green, and I was very glad. I 
put my nose up to him, and tried to say that we were 
friends. I never saw a man so pleased. 

92 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

"Give you a fair trial ! I should think so, indeed ! 
I wonder who the rascal was that broke your knees, 
my old Beauty! you must have been badly served 
out somewhere; well, well, it won't be my fault if 
you haven't good times of it now. I wish John 
Manly was here to see you." 

In the afternoon I was put into a low park chair 
and brought to the door. Miss Ellen was going to 
try me, and Green went with her. I soon found 
that she was a good driver, and she seemed pleased 
with my paces. I heard Joe telling her about me, 
and he was sure I was Squire Gordon's old Black 
Beauty. 

When we returned, the other sisters came out to 
hear how I had behaved myself. She told them 
what she had just heard, and said : 

"I shall certainly write to Mrs. Gordon, and tell 
her that her favorite horse has come to us. How 
pleased she will be !" 

After this I was driven every day for a week or 
so, and as I appeared to be quite safe, Miss Lavinia 
at last ventured out in the small closed carriage. 
After this it was quite decided to keep me, and call 
me by my old name of "Black Beauty.'* 

93 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

I have now lived In this happy place a whole year. 
Joe Is the best and kindest of grooms. My work Is 
easy and pleasant, and I feel my strength and spirits 
all coming back again. Mr. Thoroughgood said to 
Joe the other day : 

"In your place he will last till he Is twenty years 
old, — perhaps more." 

Willie always speaks to me when he can, and 
treats me as his special friend. My ladles have 
promised that I shall never be sold, and so I have 
nothing to fear; and here my story ends. My 
troubles are all over, and I am at home; and often 
before I am quite awake, I fancy I am still in the 
orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends 
under the apple trees. — From "Black Beauty" 



If children at school can be made to understand 
how it is just and noble to be humane even to what 
we term inferior animals. It will do much to give 
them a higher character and tone through life. 
There is nothing meaner than barbarous and cruel 
treatment of the dumb creatures, who can not an- 
swer us or resent the misery which Is so often need- 
lessly Inflicted upon them. — John Bright. 

94 



LEONARDO'S BIRD CAGES 

[Authorship Unknown] 

Once, in a city, long ago, 
Milan's its name, if you'd like to know. 
Lived there a famous artist, who 
Painted, and carved, and sculptured, too. 
Better than any in that old day, 
Better than any now, they say. 

If you should ever chance to take a foreign 

tour. 
When you're in Milan, you'll be sure \ 

There to be shown, its colors dim. 
One of the pictures drawn by him, 
Christ's Last Supper, and if your eyes 
Fill, as you gaze on it, no surprise 
Ought to be either yours or mine 
Over a face that's so divine. 

Then, if you go to Paris, there 
In the great Louvre gallery, where 
95 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Pictures are hung, they'll point you out 
One that the world goes mad about. 
Oh, such a portrait! All the while 
It holds and haunts you with its smile ; 
Beautiful Mona Lisa! She 
Couldn't be bought for gold, you see. 
Not if a king should come to buy 
Her as she sits there, let him try ! 

"What is the reason ?" Because no face 
Ever was painted with a grace 
Equal to this. But here's the thing 
For which I have kept you listening 
Rather too long : 

He used to go — 
This painter of whom I'd have you know — 
Down to the market where they sold 
Cages of birds, all gay with gold, 
Crimson, and blue, on wing and crest, 
Trapped as they just would leave the nest. 
Thither he wandered day by day, 
Buying each cage within his way, 
Making the ragged peasants glad, 
Since they could sell him all they had; 
Nor did it matter what his store. 
Still he was always buying more. 
96 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

"Why did he want so many ?" Well, 
Darlings, that's just what I'm going to tell. 
Instantly, soon as he bought a bird. 
Over his upturned head was heard, 
Oh, such a thrill! so glad, so high. 
Dropping right out of the sunny sky 
Into his heart, as naught else could. 
Filling it full, as there he stood, 
Holding the open wicker door. 
Watching with joy the bright wings soar 
Into the blue. "You know, now?" He 
.Wanted them only to set them free! 

"Why do I love Leonardo so ?" 
Not for his rare, grand pictures, no, 
But for his sweet, great soul so stirred. 
Just by a little, prisoned bird. 



I will not grudge the epithet "heroic" which my 
revered friend Darwin justly applies to the poor lit- 
tle monkey who lived in continual terror of the great 
baboon, and yet, when the brute had sprung upon his 
friend, the keeper, and was tearing out his throat, at 
the risk of instant death, sprang in turn upon his 
dreaded enemy, and bit and shrieked until help ar- 
rived. — Charles Kingsley. 

97 



ROVER AND HIS FRIENDS 

By Sarah J. Eddy 

One morning Rover was very hungry indeed. He 
had been going from place to place with his master, 
and now it was two long days since he had eaten a 
good dinner. His master was a poor tinker who 
traveled about the country and never stayed long In 
one town. Rover would have liked this if his mas- 
ter had been kind to him, but the dog was used only 
to blows and kicks. 

Rover was a rough, shaggy dog, and his tail 
curled down under him in a way that showed he had 
been ill-treated. But he had good, faithful, brown 
eyes, and the drooping tail was always ready to wag 
at a kind word. 

The tinker's breakfast was on the table. How 
good it smelt ! Rover looked at it longingly. 

"Please give me a bit, master," said Rover. "I 
am so hungry!" 

The tinker did not seem to hear. At last he said 
roughly: "Be still, Rover!" 

98 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

Rover waited patiently for a few minutes, but his 
master had no thought of feeding him. At last 
Rover put out his long, red tongue and swept the 
meat and bread into his mouth. 

Then the angry tinker struck the poor dog and 
spoke sharply to him. An hour later Rover had 
run away. 

It was a hot day in summer, and Rover stopped 
to drink some water out of a mud puddle. How 
hungry and thirsty he was! He ran on for miles 
and miles. At last he saw a cottage with smoke 
coming out of the chimney. High hills were all 
around it, and a thick, dark wood was not far away. 
On the doorstep were two little children. When 
they saw the dog they shouted with delight. 

"It is Rover !" cried Sandy. "It is Tommy Tink- 
er's dog. Where have you come from, old fellow, 
and where is your master?" 

It was plain that Rover was no stranger to them. 
He had been there with his master only the week 
before, and while Tinker Tom was mending the 
kettle, the children and the dog had made friends. 
The mother had given him a bone, and though some 
persons may forget a kindness, a dog never does. 
Rover could not answer Sandy's question. All he 

99 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

could do was to wag his tail faster than ever. The 
little girl put her arms about his shaggy neck. 

"Poor doggie !" she said. "You shall have some 
of my supper." 

When the children's mother saw Rover she 
brought him a large bowl of water, which he quickly 
lapped up. Then she gave him something to eat and 
made a soft bed for him in a corner of the room. 
She said : "Perhaps Tinker Tom may come for his 
dog and we will keep him till then." 

Rover hoped Tinker Tom would never come. He 
curled himself up in his bed and slept. 

Rover was happy in his new home. Sandy would 
often talk to him and take him for a walk. 

One of the things Rover liked to do best was to 
run after a ball. 

Sandy often brushed and combed Rover, and this 
made his coat glossy and clean. One would hardly 
have recognized the rough, neglected dog in the pet 
of the household. 

One day when Rover was playing with the chil- 
dren on the hill, he suddenly ran away as fast as he 
could go. 

"Oh, Rover, come back, come back!" called little 
Jessie ; but Rover kept on until he was lost to sight 

loo 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

in the dark woods. In the distance he had seen a 
well-known figure. Tinker Tom was coming along 
the road with his pack on his back. 

When the tinker came to the house, Sandy's 
mother told him about Rover. 

"You may keep him and welcome," said the 
tinker, "if you will give me something to eat." 

So a good, hot dinner was spread for him, and at 
last he went away with his pack on his back. When 
he had been gone a long time and it was quite dark, 
Rover appeared. He came in looking pleased and 
proud, as if he had done some very wise thing. He 
said as plainly as he could, "Am I not a clever dog ?" 

You may be sure that Sandy and Jessie were glad 
to see him again and to know that now nobody could 
take him away. 

Sandy's father was a poor man who had charge of 
a large flock of sheep. In summer he led them from 
one feeding place to another over the high hills. In 
winter the sheep were kept near the cottage. They 
did not belong to Sandy's father, but he took care of 
them. 

One day he said : "We must teach Rover to be 
useful. He can learn to help take care of the 
sheep." 

lOI 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

The next morning Rover started off to the hills 
with his new master. At first he thought it great 
fun to run after the sheep, and bark at their heels, 
but he did not know when to bark and when to be 
quiet. However, he did his best to learn, and when 
the shepherd went home he said that Rover would 
make a very useful dog. 

Soon the snow began to fall and it was pleasant to 
sit round the fire and watch the great logs crackling 
on the hearth. They were all happy at the cottage 
and Rover was sure that he had the best home in the 
world. 

One bitterly cold night the wind blew in great 
gusts. In some way the door of the sheep shed blew 
open and in the morning not one of the sheep could 
be seen. The poor things were so tired of being 
shut up that they had wandered off in the cold. 

When the shepherd missed his sheep, he was in 
great trouble. 

"Rover, my boy," he said, "the sheep have run 
away. What shall we do? I wonder if you are 
wise enough to help me find them." 

Rover jumped up quickly and shook himself as if 
to say, "I am all ready !" and then ran to the door. 
First he ran round and round the sheepfold, smelling 

102 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

with his moist, black nose close to the ground, and 
looking very wise. Then he ran a little way toward 
the hills and stood looking back, with one paw in the 
air. His ears were lifted, his eyes were bright, and 
he gave a low whine, as if to say, "I think those poor 
sheep have gone to the hills. Are you coming with 
me, or shall I go alone?" 

Rover trotted off toward the hills, his master fol- 
lowing. There was no snow at first, but by noon 
it began to fall fast. Night came and father had 
not returned. 

Sandy and Jessie were sad. It was dangerous to 
be on the hills in such weather. 

At last a footstep was heard and the children ran 
to open the door. Father came in, very grave. 

"Oh, father!" cried Sandy, "where is Rover?" 

The poor man shook his head. "The sheep are 
not to be found and our good Rover is lost, too. I 
fear they are frozen." 

Sandy and Jessie began to cry. Their mother 
was busy getting supper, but her thoughts were with 
the poor animals in the bitter cold. 

Early the next morning, and for several days the 
shepherd went out to look for his lost sheep, but he 
could find no trace of them. 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

"There is nothing for me to do now but to go to 
the owner of the sheep," he said, at last. "He is a 
very hard man. I am afraid he will turn us out of 
our home." 

Suddenly, while he was speaking, there was a 
noise at the door, and in a moment a familiar voice 
was heard. 

"Bow-wow- wow ! Bow-wow-wow !" 

"Rover has come back!" shouted Sandy, flinging 
himself upon the door in his hurry to open it. 

"Rover has come back!" cried little Jessie. 

"The sheep have come back!" said their mother, 
looking out into the yard. Yes, there were the 
sheep, — every one of them safe and sound. And 
there beside them, wagging his tail with joy and 
pride, was poor, tired, cold, hungry Rover. He was 
hoarse from barking and breathless from running, 
but he was the happiest dog in all the world. 

The unhappy sheep had paid dearly for their wish 
to get out. They were glad to get back into their 
warm shed and eat a good meal of turnips. As for 
Rover, he was treated like a prince. He had the 
supper he liked best, and a soft bed was made for 
him near the fire. He put his curly head down on 
his paws and went to sleep, while Sandy and Jessie 
watched him lovingly. How far he had tramped 

104 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

over the hills or how he had found the sheep he 
could not tell. 

"He is tired out," said the shepherd. "He must 
have a long rest now, for he has earned it. Good, 
faithful, grateful Rover !" 



THE ARAB TO HIS FAVORITE 
STEED 

By Caroline E. Norton 

My beautiful ! my beautiful ! that standest meekly by, 
With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and dark 

and fiery eye, 
Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy winged 

speed ; 
I may not mount on thee again, — thou'rt sold, my 

Arab steed ! 
Fret not with that impatient hoof, — snuff not the 

breezy wind, — 
The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I behind ; 
The stranger hath thy bridle-rein, — thy master hath 

his gold, — 
Fleet- limbed and beautiful, farewell; thou'rt sold, 

my steed, thou'rt sold. 

105 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Farewell ! those free, untired limbs full many a mile 

must roam, 
To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the 

stranger's home ; 
And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy master's 

hand to meet. 
Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye, glancing 

bright ; — 
Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and 

light; 
Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and 

bed prepare. 
Thy silky mane, I braided once, must be another's 

care! 
The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more 

with thee 
Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where we 

were wont to be ; 
Evening shall darken on the earth, and o'er the 

sandy plain 
Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me 

home again. 

Yes, thou must go ! the wild, free breeze, the brilliant 
sun and sky, 

1 06 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

Thy master's house, — from all of these my exiled 

one must fly ; 
Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, thy step 

become less fleet. 
And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer 

thy speed, 
Then must I, starting, wake to feel, — thou'rt sold, 

my Arab steed ! 

Ah! rudely, then, unseen by me, some cruel hand 

may chide. 
Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy 

panting side ; 
And the rich blood that's in thee swells, in thy indig- 
nant pain, 
Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count each 

starting vein. 
Will they ill-use thee? If I thought — but no, it can 

not be,' — 
Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed ; so gentle, yet so 

free: 
And yet, if haply, when thou'rt gone, my lonely 

heart should yearn, — 
Can the hand which casts thee from it now command 

thee to return ? 

107 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Return ! alas ! my Arab steed ! what shall thy master 

do, 
,When thou, who wast his all of joy, hast vanished 

from his view? 
When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through 

the gathering tears 
Thy bright form, for a moment, like the false mirage 

appears ; 
Slow and unmounted shall I roam, with weary step 

alone, 
Where, with fleet step and joyous bound, thou oft 

hast borne me on ; 
And sitting down by that green well, I'll pause and 

sadly think, 
"It was here he bowed his glossy neck when last I 

saw him drink !" 

When last I saw thee drink! — ^Away! the fevered 

dream is o'er, — 
I could not live a day, and know that we should meet 

no more ! 
They tempted me, my beautiful ! — for hunger's 

power is strong, — 
They tempted me, my beautiful ! but I have loved too 

long. 

io8 



BIRDS AND ANIMALS 

Who said that I had given thee up? who said that 
thou wast sold ? 

'Tis false, — 'tis false, my Arab steed! I fling them 
back their gold ! 

Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back, and scour the dis- 
tant plains ; 

Away ! who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his 
pains. 



AUNT ESTHER'S RULE 
By Harriet Beecher Stowe 

One of Aunt Esther's rules for the care of ani- 
mals was "Never frighten an animal for sport." I 
remember that I had a little white kitten, of which 
I was very fond, and one day I was amusing myself 
with making her walk up and down the keyboard of 
the piano, and laughing to see her fright at the 
strange noises which came up under her feet. It 
never occurred to me that there was any cruelty in 
it, till Aunt Esther said to me: "My dear, you 
must never frighten an animal. I have suffered 
enough from fear to know that there is no suffering 

109 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

more dreadful; and a helpless animal, that can not 
speak to tell its fright, and can not understand an 
explanation of what alarms it, ought to move your 
pity." 

TENDER HEARTED 

A man, riding along on a horse one day, in com- 
pany with some friends, saw, upon the ground, two 
young birds. A strong wind had tipped the nest 
and spilled the little birds to the ground. This man, 
who always relieved suffering when he could, 
alighted from his horse, and carefully lifting the 
birds, put them in the nest. Then placing the nest 
securely on a branch, he mounted his horse and 
joined the party. The kind heart that prompted 
this act belonged to Abraham Lincoln. 



O, it is excellent 
To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous 
To use it like a giant. 

— William Shakespeare. 



no 



FAITH 



IN WINTER 

By Bayard Taylor 

The valley stream Is frozen. 
The hills are cold and bare, 

And the wild white bees of winter 
Swarm in the darkened air. 

I look on the naked forest : 
Was it ever green in June ? 

Did it burn with gold and crimson 
In the 4im autumnal noon ? 

I look on the barren meadow : 
Was it ever heaped with hay? 

Did it hide the grassy cottage 

Where the skylark's children lay? 

I look on the desolate garden : 
Is it true the rose was there ? 

And the woodbine's musky blossoms. 
And the hyacinth's purple hair? 
113 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Is the stem of bliss but withered. 
And the root survive the blast ? 

Are the seeds of the Future sleeping 
Under the leaves of the past? 

Ah, yes ! for a thousand Aprils 
The frozen germs shall grow, 

And the dews of a thousand summers, 
Wait in the heart of the snow ! 



THE ARBUTUS 

By E. Kemeys 

On the rough hillside, often 'neath the snow, 
Trails the arbutus, fairest of wild flowers ; 

There finds its life with mosses creeping low, 

All through the drowze of April's golden hours. 

Withered and brown, the chestnut leaves o'erspread 
Each tiny blossom, tinged like a pink sea-shell. 

Shy as they cluster, on the brown earth's bed, 
Naught but their perfume of their hiding tell. 
114 



FAITH 

The laurel loves it, and its leaves' smooth sheen 
Droop where the pine trees sing their music sweet, 

And throw a glassy, moving shade, between 
The lowly flowers and the sultry heat. 

O, lovely flower ! lifting thy trustful eye 
Up to the source of life and light above, 

Thou seem'st to see, far through the azure sky, 
The power that formed thee perfect, in His love. 



NOVEMBER 

By Alice Gary 

The leaves are fading and falling, 

The winds are rough and wild, 
The birds have ceased their calling. 

But let me tell you, my child, 
Though, day by day, as it closes, 

Doth darker and darker grow. 
The roots of the bright red roses. 

Will keep alive In the snow. 
115 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

And when the winter is over. 

The boughs will get new leaves. 
The quails come back to the clover, 

And the swallow back to the eaves. 
The robin will wear on his bosom 

A vest that is bright and new, 
And the loveliest wayside blossom 

.Will shine with the sun and dew. 

The leaves to-day are whirling. 

The brooks are all dry and dumb. 
But let me tell you, my darling, 

The spring will be sure to come. 
There must be rough, cold weather. 

And winds and rains so wild ; 
Not all good things together 

Come to us here, my child. 

So, when some dear joy loses 
Its beauteous summer glow, 

Think how the roots of the roses 
Are kept alive in the snow. 



O yet we trust that somehow good 
Will be the final goal of ill. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 
ii6 



UNDER THE SNOW 

By Mrs. Cheseboro 

Under the snow the violets are budding. 

Nurtured and cherished within the warm earth ; 

Rich fragrance imbibing, while patiently waiting 
The word of command that shall wake them to 
birth. 

Under the snow the streamlets are sleeping ; 

Lulled is the voice of their murmuring flow ; 
Their rest is not death; but life is renewing. 

While spring's brightest promise is ice-bound be- 
low. 

Under the snow, the beautiful snow. 

Rests all the fair future of promise and bloom, 

The bud and the blossom, the summer's bright glow, 
The autumn's full fruitage, the winter's rich boon. 



117 



BEAUTY 



POPPIES IN THE WHEAT 

By Helen Hunt Jackson 

Along Ancona's hills, the shimmering heat, 
A tropic tide of air with ebb and flow, 
Bathes all the fields of wheat until they glow 

Like flashing seas of green which toss and beat 

Around the vines. 

The poppies lithe and fleet 

Seem running, fiery torchmen, to and fro 
To mark the shore. 

The farrner does not know 
That they are there. He walks with heavy feet. 

Counting the bread and wine by autumn's gain. 

But I — I smile to think that days remain 
Perhaps to me in which, though bread be sweet 

No more, and red wine warm my blood in vain, 
I shall be glad remembering how the fleet 
Lithe poppies ran like torchmen with the wheat. 

121 



THE MASTER'S VIOLIN 

It was a wee pine tree in the midst of a great 
forest of pines. It was so shut in by the great tall 
pines that it couldn't look about much, but it could 
look up at the sky, where at night it watched the 
shining stars and the beautiful, wonderful, silver 
moon. And in the daytime as it gazed into the 
beautiful blue above, it saw white clouds like ships 
go sailing by. When the wind blew through the 
branches it heard the sweet music of the great pine 
trees. The little pine tree wished to grow tall and to 
learn to sing the songs of the grown-up pines. 

Year after year it grew taller and taller, stretch- 
ing its pretty green branches up and up till it too 
sang the songs of the great pine trees as the wind 
whistled through its branches. 

One day some woodmen came into the forest and 
selected our pine tree as the very one they wanted. 
Sharp axes came with heavy blows against its trunk 
till down fell the pine tree on the soft white snow. 
Then it was carried away on a large sled out of the 
forest and into a little village by the sea and on into 
a great shipyard. 

122 



BEAUTY 

After much sawing and hammering and pounding 
the pine tree found itself a part of a strong, stately 
ship, which glided into the water and sailed away. 
The waves dashed carelessly against it, and they too 
sang a song, though not the song of the pines. 

Many years passed and the ship was wrecked. 
The lumber which was once the pine tree floated 
ashore and after some days three little children came 
to gather shells near where it lay and as they played 
they sang sweet little songs which the pine tree loved 
and never forgot. 

There came one day a man who said, "Here is 
just the piece of timber for a ridge-pole for my cot- 
tage," and so the pine tree became a part of a house. 
And many times it heard songs and often they were 
sweet lullabies. 

Years passed and the children grew to be men and 
women and the old house became a barn and after a 
long time it was entirely deserted. 

But one day the old piece of timber which had 
been the pine tree heard a low whistle far away. It 
came nearer and nearer and finally a man entered 
the forsaken barn and looked about and examined 
the timber. Then loosening the ridge-pole he said, 
"Here is what I have been looking for." And this 

123 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

piece of wood, once a part of a pine tree, was carried 
to a little shop and sawed and worked over for many 
days till at last it was shaped into a violin. Then the 
man who had made it took his bow and drew it 
across the strings and the music was very sweet. 

After some time the violin was taken in a case on 
a long journey and at last found itself on a platform 
in a large hall full of people. The man said, "Sing 
for me." He drew his bow across its string and the 
violin sang the song of the pines in the forest. Then 
the song changed and the lapping of ocean waters 
was heard. Slowly this song died and everything 
was quiet, then after a little while the laugh of happy 
children's voices was heard and then the lullaby to 
sleepy babes. 

At last the violin could sing no longer the songs it 
knew, but a new song came forth which was the most 
beautiful of all. The people bent forward to listen 
eagerly, for it came from the heart of the old man 
who was master of the violin. 

Retold from "A Child's Story Garden." 



If you get simple beauty, and naught else, 
You get about the best thing God invents. 

— Robert Browning. 
124 



"I WANDERED LONELY AS A 
CLOUD" 

By William Wordsworth 

I wandered lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
When all at once I saw a crowd, 

A host of golden daffodils ; 
Beside the lake, beneath the trees. 
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle in the Milky Way, 

They stretched in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a bay : 

Ten thousand saw I at a glance. 

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced ; but they 
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee : 

A poet could not but be gay. 
In such a jocund company : 
125 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 
What wealth the show to me had brought : 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 
In vacant or in pensive mood. 

They flash upon that inward eye 
Which is the bliss of solitude ; 

And then my heart with pleasure fills, 

And dances with the daffodils. 



THE WONDERFUL WORLD 

By William Brighty Rands 

Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World, 
With the wonderful water round you curled, 
And the wonderful grass upon your breast, 
World, you are beautifully drest! 

The wonderful air is over me, 
And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree ; 
It walks on the water, and whirls the mills, 
And talks to itself on the tops of the hills. 

126 



BEAUTY 

You, friendly Earth, how far do you go. 

With the wheat fields that nod and the rivers that 

flow. 
With cities, and gardens, and cliffs, and isles, 
And people upon you for thousands of miles? 

Ah, you are so great, and I am so small, 

I hardly can think of you. World, at all ; 

And yet, when I said my prayers to-day, 

A whisper within me seemed to say : 

"You are more than the Earth, though you are such 

a dot: 
You can love and think, and the Earth can not !" 



127 



PERSONAL WORTH 



THE MOUNTAIN AND THE 
SQUIRREL 

By Ralph Waldo Emerson 

The mountain and the squirrel 
Had a quarrel ; 

And the former called the latter "Little Prig. 
Bun replied, 

"You are doubtless very big ; 
But all sorts of things and weather 
Must be taken in together, 
To make up a year and a sphere. 
And I think it no disgrace 
To occupy my place. 
If I'm not so large as you, 
You are not so small as I, 
And not half so spry. 
I'll not deny you make 
A very pretty squirrel track ; 
Talents differ : all is well and wisely put ; 
If I can not carry forests on my back, 
Neither can you crack a nut !" 
131 



THE UGLY DUCKLING 

By Hans Christian Andersen 

It was lovely summer weather in the country, and 
the golden corn, the green oats, and the haystacks in 
the meadows looked beautiful. On a sunny slope 
stood a pleasant old farm-house, close by a deep 
river. Under some big burdock leaves on the bank 
sat a duck on her nest, waiting for her young brood 
to hatch. She was beginning to get tired of her task, 
for the little ones were a long time coming out of 
their shells. 

At length one shell cracked, and then another, 
and from each egg came a living creature that lifted 
its head and cried, "Peep, peep." "Quack, quack," 
said the mother, and then they all quacked as well 
as they could, and looked about them on every side 
at the large green leaves. Their mother let them 
look as much as they liked, because green is good 
for the eyes. 

"How large the world is !" said the young ducks, 
when they found how much more room they now 

132 



PERSONAL WORTH 

had than while they were inside the eggshell. *'Do 
you imagine this is the whole world?" asked the 
mother; "wait till you have seen the garden; it 
stretches far beyond that to the parson's field, but I 
have never gone so far. 

"Are you all out?" she continued, rising; "no, 
I declare, the largest egg lies there still. I wonder 
how long this is to last, I am quite tired of it ;" and 
she seated herself again on the nest. 

"Well, how are you getting on?" asked an old 
duck, who paid her a visit. 

"One egg is not hatched yet," said the duck; "it 
will not break. But just look at all the others ; are 
they not the prettiest little ducklings you ever saw ?" 

"Let me see the egg that will not hatch," said the 
old duck; "I have no doubt it is a turkey's egg. I 
was persuaded to hatch some once, and after all my 
care and trouble with the young ones, they were 
afraid of the water. I quacked and clucked, but all 
to no purpose. Let me look at the egg. Yes, that 
is a turkey's egg; take my advice, leave it where it 
is, and teach the other children how to swim." 

"I think I will sit on it a little while longer," said 
the duck; "I have sat so long already, a few days 
will be nothing." 

133 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

"Please yourself," said the old duck, and she went 
away. 

At last the large egg hatched, and a young one 
crept forth, crying, "Peep, peep." It was very large 
and ugly. The duck stared at it, and exclaimed, "It 
is very large, and not at all like the others. I wonder 
if it really is a turkey. We shall soon find out when 
we go to the water. It must go in, if I have to push 
it in myself." 

On the next day the weather was delightful, and 
the sun shone brightly on the green burdock leaves, 
so the mother duck took her young brood down to 
the water, and jumped in with a splash. 

"Quack, quack," cried she, and one after another 
the little ducklings jumped in. The water closed over 
their heads, but they came up again in an instant, and 
swam about quite prettily with their legs paddling 
under them as easily as possible, and the ugly duck- 
ling swam with them. 

"Oh," said the mother, "that is not a turkey; how 
well he uses his legs, and how upright he holds him- 
self ! He is my own child, and he is not so very 
ugly after all if you look at him properly. Quack, 
quack! come with me now, I will take you to the 
farmyard, but you must keep close to me, or you 

134 



PERSONAL WORTH 

may be trodden upon; and, above all, beware of the 
cat." 

The ducklings did as they were bid, and, when 
they came to the yard, the other ducks stared, and 
said, "Look, here comes another brood, as if there 
were not enough of us already ! And what a queer- 
looking object one of them is; we don't want him 
here," and then one flew at him and bit him in the 
neck. 

"Let him alone," said his mother; "he is not doing 
any harm." 

"Yes, but he is too big and ugly," said the spiteful 
duck, "and therefore he must be turned out." 

They soon got to feel at home in the farmyard; 
but the poor duckling that had crept out of his shell 
last of all, and looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed 
and made fun of, not only by the ducks, but by all 
the poultry. "He is too big," they all said, and the 
turkey-cock, who had been born into the world with 
spurs, and fancied himself really an emperor, puffed 
himself out and flew at the duckling, and became 
quite red in the head with passion, so that the poor 
little thing did not know where to go, and was quite 
miserable because he was so ugly and was laughed 
at by the whole farmyard. So it went on from day 

135 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

to day, till it got worse and worse. The poor duck- 
ling was driven about by every one; even his 
brothers and sisters were unkind to him, and would 
say, "Ah, you ugly creature, I wish the cat would 
get you!" and his mother said she wished he had 
never been born. The ducks pecked him, the chick- 
ens beat him, and the girl who fed the poultry 
kicked him. So at last he ran away, frightening the 
little birds in the hedge as he flew over the palings. 

"They are afraid of me because I am so ugly," 
he said. So he closed his eyes, and flew still farther, 
until he came out on a large moor, inhabited by wild 
ducks. Here he remained the whole night, feeling 
very tired and sorrowful. 

In the morning, when the wild ducks rose in the 
air, they stared at their new comrade. "What sort 
of duck are you?" they all said, coming round him. 

He bowed to them, and was as polite as he could 
be, but he did not reply to their question. 

"You are exceedingly ugly," said the wild ducks ; 
"but that will not matter if you do not marry into 
our family." Poor thing ! all he wanted was to stay 
among the rushes and find something to eat and 
drink. 

After he had been on the moor two days, some 
136 



PERSONAL WORTH 

men came to shoot the birds there. How they terri- 
fied the poor duckling! He hid himself among the 
reeds, and lay quite still, when suddenly a dog came 
running by him, and went splash into the water 
without touching him. "Oh," sighed the duckling, 
"how thankful I am for being so ugly; even a dog 
will not bite me." 

It was late in the day before all became quiet, but 
even then the poor young thing did not dare to 
move. He waited for several hours, and then, after 
looking carefully around him, hastened away from 
the moor as fast as he could. He ran over field and 
meadow till a storm arose, and he could hardly 
struggle against it. Toward evening he reached a 
poor little cottage. The duckling was so tired that 
he could go no farther; he sat down by the cottage, 
and then he noticed that there was a hole near the 
bottom of the door large enough for him to slip 
through, which he did very quietly, and got a shelter 
for the night. 

A woman, a cat, and a hen lived In this cot- 
tage. The cat, whom his mistress called "My little 
son," was a great favorite ; he could raise his back, 
and purr, and could even throw out sparks from his 
fur if it were stroked the wrong way. The hen 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

had very short legs, so she was called "Chickie 
Short-legs." She laid good eggs, and her mistress 
loved her as if she had been her own child. In the 
morning the strange visitor was discovered, and the 
cat began to purr, and the hen to cluck. 

"What is that noise about?" said the old woman, 
looking round the room ; but her sight was not very- 
good; therefore, when she saw the duckling she 
thought it must be a fat duck that had strayed from 
home. "Oh, what a prize !" she exclaimed, "I hope 
it is not a drake, for then I shall have some duck's 
eggs. I must wait and see." So the duckling was 
allowed to remain on trial for three weeks, but there 
were no eggs. 

Now the cat was the master of the house, and the 
hen was the mistress, and they always said, "We 
and the world;" for they believed themselves to be 
half the world, and the better half, too. The duck- 
ling thought that others might hold a different opin- 
ion on the subject, but the hen would not listen to 
such doubts. "Can you lay eggs?" she asked. 
"No." "Then have the goodness to hold your 
tongue." "Can you raise your back, or purr, or 
throw out sparks?" said the cat. "No." "Then 
you have no right to express an opinion when sensi- 

138 



PERSONAL WORTH 

ble people are speaking." So the duckling sat in a 
corner, feeling very low-spirited, till the sunshine 
and the fresh air came into the room through the 
open door, and then he began to feel such a great 
longing for a swim on the water that he could not 
help telling the hen. 

"What an absurd idea !" said the hen. "You have 
nothing else to do, therefore you have foolish fan- 
cies. If you could purr or lay eggs, they would pass 
away." 

"But it is delightful to swim about on the water," 
said the duckling, "and so refreshing to feel it close 
over your head, while you dive down to the bot- 
tom." 

"Delightful, indeed," said the hen; "why, you 
must be crazy! Ask the cat, he is the cleverest 
animal I know, ask him how he would like to swim 
about on the water, or to dive under it, for I will not 
speak of my own opinion ; ask our mistress, the old 
woman — there is no one in the world more clever 
than she is. Do you think she would like to swim, 
or to let the water close over her head?" 

"You don't understand me," said the duckling. 

"We don't understand you? Who can understand 
you, I wonder? Do you consider yourself more 

139 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

clever than the cat or the old woman? I will say 
nothing of myself. Don't imagine such nonsense, 
child, and thank your good fortune that you have 
been received here. Are you not in a warm room 
and in society from which you may learn some- 
thing? But you are a chatterer, and your company 
is not very agreeable. Believe me, I speak only for 
your good. I may tell you unpleasant truths, but 
that is a proof of my friendship. I advise you, 
therefore, to lay eggs and learn to purr as quickly 
as possible." 

"I believe I must go out into the world again," 
said the duckling. 

"Yes, do," said the hen. 

So the duckling left the cottage, and soon found 
water on which he could swim and dive. But he 
was avoided by all other animals because he was so 
ugly. 

Autumn came, and the leaves in the forest turned 
to orange and gold. Then, as winter approached, 
the wind caught them as they fell and whirled them 
in the cold air. The clouds, heavy with hail and 
snowflakes, hung low in the sky, and the raven stood 
on the ferns, crying, "Croak, croak." It made one 
shiver with cold to look at him. All this was very- 
sad for the poor little duckling. 

140 



PERSONAL WORTH 

One evening, just as the sun set amid bright 
clouds, there came a large flock of beautiful birds 
out of the bushes. The duckling had never seen 
any like them before. They were swans, and they 
curved their graceful necks, while their soft plu- 
mage shone with dazzling whiteness. They uttered a 
singular cry, as they spread their glorious wings and 
flew away from those cold regions to warmer coun- 
tries across the sea. As they mounted higher and 
higher in the air, the ugly little duckling felt a 
strange sensation as he watched them. He whirled 
himself in the water like a wheel, stretched out his 
neck toward them, and uttered a cry so strange that 
it frightened himself. Could he ever forget those 
beautiful, happy birds? When at last they were 
out of his sight, he dived under the water, and rose 
almost beside himself with excitement. 

He knew not the names of these beautiful birds, 
but he felt toward them as he had never felt toward 
any other bird in the world. He was not envious 
of them, but he wished to be as lovely as they. Poor 
ugly creature, how gladly he would have lived even 
with the ducks, had they only given him encourage- 
ment! 

The winter grew colder and colder. Sometimes 
he was obliged to swim about on the water to keep 

141 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

it from freezing, but every night the space on which 
he swam became smaller and smaller. At length it 
froze so hard that the ice in the water crackled as 
he moved, and the duckling had to paddle with his 
legs as well as he could, to keep the space from 
closing up. He became exhausted at last, and lay- 
still and helpless, frozen fast in the ice. 

Early in the morning, a farmer, who was passing 
by, saw what had happened. He broke the ice in 
pieces with his wooden shoe, and carried the duck- 
ling home to his wife. The warmth revived the 
poor little creature; but when the children wanted 
to play with him, the duckling thought they would 
do him some harm, so he started up in terror, flut- 
tered into the milk pan, and splashed the milk about 
the room. 

Then the woman clapped her hands, which fright- 
ened him still more. He flew first into the butter 
cask, then into the meal tub. 

What a sorry condition he was in! The woman 
screamed, and struck at him with the tongs; the 
children laughed and screamed, and tumbled over 
each other in their efforts to catch him, but luckily 
he escaped. The door stood open ; the poor creature 
could just manage to slip out among the bushes, and 
lie down quite exhausted in the newly fallen snow. 

142 



PERSONAL WORTH 

It would be sad if I were to relate all the misery 
and privations which the poor little duckling en- 
dured that hard winter; but when it had passed he 
found himself lying one morning in a moor, 
amongst the rushes. He felt the warm sun shining, 
and heard the lark singing, and saw that all around 
was beautiful spring. 

Then the young bird felt that his wings were 
strong, as he flapped them against his sides, and 
rose high into the air. They bore him onward, until 
he found himself in a large garden, before he well 
knew how it had happened. 

The apple trees were in blossom, and the fragrant 
elders bent their long green branches down to the 
stream which wound round a smooth lawn. Every- 
thing looked beautiful in the early spring. 

From a thicket close by came three beautiful 
swans, rustling their feathers, and swimming lightly 
over the smooth water. The duckling remembered 
the lovely birds, and felt more strangely unhappy 
than ever. 

"I will fly to these royal birds," he exclaimed, 
"and they will kill me, because I am so ugly, and 
dare to approach them; but it does not matter: 
better be killed by them than pecked by the ducks, 

143 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

beaten by the hens, or starved with hunger in the 
winter." 

Then he flew to the water, and swam toward the 
beautiful swans. The moment they espied the 
stranger, they rushed to meet him with outstretched 
wings. 

"Kill me," said the poor bird; and he bent his 
head down to the surface of the water, and waited. 

But what did he see in the clear stream below? 
His own image; no longer a dark, gray bird, ugly 
and disagreeable to look at, but a graceful and 
beautiful swan; and the great swans swam round 
the new-comer, and stroked his neck with their 
beaks, as a welcome. 

Into the garden presently came some little chil- 
dren, and threw bread and cake into the water. 

"See," cried the youngest ; "there is a new one !" 
and the rest were delighted, and ran to their father 
and mother, dancing and clapping their hands, and 
shouting joyously, "There is another swan come, a 
new one !" 

Then they threw more bread and cake into the 
water, and said, "The new one Is the most beautiful 
of all; he is so young and pretty." And the old 
swans bowed their heads before him. 

144 



PERSONAL WORTH 

Then he felt ashamed, and hid his head under his 
wing; for he did not know what to do, he was so 
happy, and yet not at all proud. He had been 
despised for his ugliness, and now he heard them 
say he was the most beautiful of all the birds. 

Even the elder tree bent down its boughs into 
the water before him, and the sun shone warm and 
bright. Then he rustled his feathers, curved his 
slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of 
his heart, "I never dreamed of such happiness as 
this, while I was an ugly duckling." 



THREE TREES 
By Charles H. Crandali; 

The pine tree grew in the wood, 
Tapering, straight, and high ; 

Stately and proud it stood. 
Black-green against the sky. 

Crowded so close it sought the blue. 

And ever upward it reached and grew. 
145 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

The oak tree stood in the field, 

Beneath it dozed the herds ; 
It gave to the mower a shield, 

It gave a home to the birds. 
Sturdy and broad it guarded the farms. 
With its brawny trunk and knotted arms. 

The apple tree grew by the wall, 

Ugly and crooked and black ; 
But it knew the gardener's call, 

And the children rode on its back. 
It scattered its blossoms upon the air : 
It covered the ground with fruitage fair. 

"Now, hey," said the pine, "for the wood ! 

Come, live in the forest band. 
Our comrades will do you good. 

And tall and straight you will stand." 
And he swung his boughs to a witching sound, 
And flung his cones like coins around. 

"Oho !" laughed the sturdy oak, 
"The life of the field for me. 
I weathered the lightning-stroke ; 
146 



PERSONAL WORTH 

My branches are broad and free. 
Grow straight and sHm In the wood i£ you will, 
Give me the sun and the wind-swept hill." 

And the apple tree murmured low, — 

"I am neither straight nor strong ; 
Crooked my back doth grow 

With bearing my burdens long." 
And it dropped its fruit as it dropped a tear, 
And reddened the ground with fragrant cheer. 

And the Lord of the harvest heard, 
And He said, "I have use for all ; 

For the bough that shelters a bird. 
For the beam that pillars a hall. 

And grow they tall or grow they ill, 

They grow but to wait their Master's will." 

So a ship of the oak was sent 

Far over the ocean blue, 
And the pine was the mast that bent 

As over the waves it flew, 
And the ruddy fruit of the apple tree 
Was borne to a starving isle of the sea. 
147 



CORNELIA'S JEWELS 

By James Baldwin 

It was a bright morning in the old city of Rome 
many hundred years ago. In a vine-covered sum- 
mer-house in a beautiful garden, two boys were 
standing. They were looking at their mother and 
her friend, who were walking among the flowers 
and trees. 

"Did you ever see so handsome a lady as our 
mother's friend?" asked the younger boy, holding 
his tall brother's hand. "She looks like a queen." 

"Yet she is not so beautiful as our mother," said 
the elder boy. "She has a fine dress, it is true ; but 
her face is not noble and kind. It is our mother who 
is like a queen." 

"That is true," said the other. "There is no 
woman in Rome so much like a queen as our own 
dear mother." 

Soon Cornelia, their mother, came down the walk 
to speak with them. She was simply dressed in a 
plain white robe. Her arms and feet were bare, as 

148 



PERSONAL WORTH 

was the custom in those days; and no rings nor 
chains glittered about her hands and neck. For her 
only crown, long braids of soft brown hair were 
coiled about her head ; and a tender smile lit up her 
noble face as she looked into her sons' proud eyes. 

"Boys," she said, "I have something to tell you." 

They bowed before her, as Roman lads were 
taught to do, and said, "What is it, mother?" 

"You are to dine with us to-day, here in the gar- 
den; and then our friend is going to show us that 
wonderful casket of jewels of which you have heard 
so much." 

The brothers looked shyly at their mother's 
friend. Was it possible that she had still other 
rings besides those on her fingers? Could she have 
other gems besides those which sparkled in the 
chains about her neck ? 

When the simple outdoor meal was over, a ser- 
vant brought the casket from the house. The lady 
opened it. Ah, how those jewels dazzled the eyes 
of the wondering boys ! There were ropes of pearls, 
white as milk, and smooth as satin ; heaps of shining 
rubies, red as the glowing coals; sapphires as blue 
as the sky that summer day; and diamonds that 
flashed and sparkled like the sunlight. 

149 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

The brothers looked long at the gems. 

"Ah!" whispered the younger; "if our mother 
could only have such beautiful things !" 

At last, however, the casket was closed and car- 
ried carefully away. 

"Is it true, Cornelia, that you have no jewels?" 
asked her friend. "Is it true, as I have heard it 
whispered, that you are poor?" 

"No, I am not p09r," answered Cornelia, and as 
she spoke she drew her two boys to her side; "for 
here are my jewels. They are worth more than all 
your gems." 

I am sure that the boys never forgot their 
mother's pride and love and care ; and in after years, 
when they had become great men in Rome, they 
often thought of this scene in the garden. And the 
world still likes to hear the story of Cornelia's 
jewels. 



Whenever any trait of justice, or generosity, or 
far-sighted wisdom, or wide tolerance, or compas- 
sion, or purity, is seen in any man or woman 
throughout the whole human race, as in the frag- 
ment of a broken mirror we see the reflection of the 
Divine image. — Dean Stanley. 

150 



LITTLE ANEMONE 

By Henrietta S. Pike 

Little anemone, 

So frail and so fair, 
Blooming so brave. 

In the cold spring air. 

Out of the darkness. 

Springing to life, 
So brave though so tiny, 

'Midst this great world of strife. 

Standing so firm. 

Though swayed by the breeze, 
Seeming to say 

By its pure petaled leaves. 

Out of the darkness 

Shall come forth light, 
God in His wisdom 

Has made day and night. 

151 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Out of the darkness, 

This white thing is born ; 

Out of the shadows 
Breaketh Hfe's morn. 

Little anemone, 

Great is thy part ; 
By thy silence and faith, 

Thou many lessons impart. 



THE NOBLE NATURE 

By Ben Jonson 

It is not growing like a tree 
In bulk, doth make man better be ; 
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
To fall a log at last, dry, bald and sere ; 
A lily of a day 
Is fairer far in May, 
Although it fall and die that night — 
It was the plant and flower of light. 
In small proportions we just beauties see ; 
And in short measures life may perfect be. 
152 



MY KINGDOM 

By Louisa M. Alcott 

A little kingdom I possess, 

Where thoughts and feelings dwell. 
And very hard the task I find 

Of governing it well; 
For passion tempts and troubles me, 

A wayward will misleads. 
And selfishness its shadow casts 

On all my words and deeds. 

How can I learn to rule myself. 

To be the child I should, 
Honest and brave, and never tire 

Of trying to be good? 
How can I keep a sunny soul 

To shine along life's way? 
How can I tune my little heart 

To sweetly sing all day ? 

Dear Father, help me with the love 
That casteth out my fear; 
153 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Teach me to lean on Thee and feel 
That Thou art ever near ; 

That no temptation is unseen, 
No childish grief too small, 

Since Thou with patience infinite 
Doth soothe and comfort all. 

I do not ask for any crown 

But that which all may win ; 
Nor try to conquer any world 

Except the one within. 
Be Thou my guide until I find, 

Led by a tender hand, 
Thy happy kingdom in myself, 

And dare to take command. 



THE PETRIFIED FERN 

By Mary L. Bolles Branch 

In a valley, centuries ago, 

Grew a little fern-leaf, green and slender, 

Veining delicate and fibres tender ; 
iWaving when the wind crept down so low. 

Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it, 
154 



PERSONAL WORTH 

But no foot of man e'er trod that way; 
Earth was young, and keeping holiday. 

Monster fishes swam the silent main, 

Stately forests waved their giant branches. 
Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches, 

Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain ; 
Nature reveled in grand mysteries. 
But the little fern was not of these. 
Did not number with the hills and trees ; 
Only grew and waved its wild sweet way ; 
None ever came to note it day by day. 

Earth one time put on a frolic mood, 

Heaved the rocks and changed the mighty motion 

Of the deep, strong currents of the ocean; 
Moved the plain and shook the haughty wood, 

Crushed the little fern in soft, moist clay, — 

Covered it, and hid it safe away. 

O, the long, long centuries since that day ! 

O, the agony ! O, the life's bitter cost, 

Since that useless little fern was lost ! 

Useless? Lost? There came a thoughtful man 
Searching Nature's secrets far and deep. 
From a fissure in a rocky steep, 

155 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran 
Fairy pencilings, a quaint design, 
Veinings, leafage, fibres clear and fine. 
And the fern's life lay in every line. 
So, I think, God hides some souls away, 
Sweetly to surprise us, the last day. 



THE LAMB 

By William Blake 

Little lamb, who made thee? 
Dost thou know who made thee, 
Gave thee life and bade thee feed 
By the stream and o'er the mead ; 
Gave thee clothing of delight. 
Softest clothing, woolly, bright; 
Gave thee such a tender voice, 
Making all the vales rejoice? 
Little lamb, who made thee? 

Dost thou know who made thee? 
Little lamb, I'll tell thee ; 
Little lamb, I'll tell thee. 
156 



PERSONAL WORTH 

He is called by thy name, 
For He called Himself a Lamb. 
He is meek and He is mild, 
He became a little child. 
I a child and thou a lamb, 
We are called by His name ; 
Little lamb, God bless thee ! 
Little lamb, God bless thee ! 



LITTLE BROWN HANDS 

By Mary Hannah Krout 

They drive home the cows from the pasture. 

Up through the long, shady lane. 
Where the quail whistles loud in the wheat fields, 

That are yellow with ripening grain. 
They find, in the thick, waving grasses. 

Where the scarlet-lipped strawberry grows ; 
They gather the earliest snowdrops, 

And the first crimson buds of the rose. 

They toss the new hay in the meadow, 
They gather the elder-bloom white ; 
157 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

They find where the dusky grapes purple, 
In the soft-tinted October light. 

They know where the apples hang ripest, 
And are sweeter than Italy's wines ; 

They know where the fruit clusters thickest. 
On the long, thorny blackberry vines. 

They gather the delicate sea-weed, 

And build tiny castles of sand; 
They pick up the beautiful sea-shells — 

Fairy barks that have drifted to land. 
They wave from the tall, rocking tree-tops, 

Where the oriole's hammock-nest swings; 
And at night-time are folded in slumber 

By a song that a fond mother sings. 

Those who toil bravely are strongest ; 

The humble and poor become great ; 
And so from these brown-handed children 

Shall grow mighty rulers of state. 
The pen of the author and statesman— 

The noble and wise of the land — 
The chisel, the sword, and the palette. 

Shall be held in the little brown hand. 



158 



CONTENTMENT 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree 

The village smithy stands ; 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat. 

He earns whate'er he can 
And looks the whole world in the face. 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night, 

You can hear his bellows blow ; 
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
i6i 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

With measured beat and slow, 
Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 
Look in at the open door ; 

They love to see the flaming forge, 
And hear the bellows roar, 

And catch the burning sparks that fly- 
Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys ; 
He hears the parson pray and preach. 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice. 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 
162 



CONTENTMENT 

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. 
Onward through life he goes ; 

Each morning sees some task begin, 
Each evening sees it close ; 

Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 



-Abridged. 



THE SHEPHERD 

By William Blake 

How sweet is the shepherd's sweet lot ! 
From the morn to the evening he strays ; 
He shall follow his sheep all the day, 
And his tongue shall be filled with praise. 
For he hears the lambs' innocent call. 
And he hears the ewes' tender reply ; 
He is watchful ; while they are in peace. 
For they know when their shepherd is nigh. 



163 



THE STONE-CUTTER 

A Japanese Legend 
By Elizabeth Harrison 

Hashnu sat beside the huge stone on which he 
had been hewing for weeks, aye, even for months. 

It seemed to him as he looked back upon the past 
as if most of his Hfe had been spent in the quarry 
chiseHng this huge stone, shaping it for its place in 
the Temple of Buddha. 

Click! click! click! went his hammer. Click! 
click ! click ! and a bit of the rough surface gave way 
and the shining granite within glittered at the point 
from which he had hewn the rough exterior. It is 
true that part of the rock even now showed the 
effect of his patient labor. One corner of it shone 
smooth and sparkling. This he had already shaped 
for its place in the great Temple of Buddha. But 
this was not enough; the whole stone must be 
dressed and polished as well as hewn into shape, and 
the task seemed a long and weary one to Hashnu. 
Sometimes the dust on the roadside almost choked 

164 



CONTENTMENT 

him, and again the sun poured down its sharp rays 
upon his head until he was dizzy. People came and 
went along the road near by and took no note of 
him. What was he ? Nothing but an obscure stone- 
cutter, hewing and shaping a stone for its place in 
the Temple of Buddha. 

One day a rich man rode by in his luxurious 
carriage. The harness on his horses jingled and 
their hoofs raised such dust that the stone-cutter 
was hidden from sight for the time being. 

Then Hashnu threw down his hammer, and ris- 
ing to his feet he lifted up his arms to heaven and 
cried aloud: "Oh, Buddha! Thou wise and great 
one! I am thy child! Hear thou my cry! I am 
tired of being only a stone-cutter; I would be rich 
and ride in mine own carriage as does yon proud 
grandee ! Help Thou me, oh Buddha !" He dropped 
his hands, his head sank upon his breast, and he 
closed his eyes. 

Then from the farthest star came sweeping down 
a mighty wind, and with the wind came a voice deep 
and low, unlike any voice that Hashnu had ever 
heard, for there was in it a tone which made all 
other sounds cease. And the voice whispered, "Oh, 
blind one ! thy prayer has been granted thee !" 

165 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Then Hashnu opened his eyes and beheld that he 
was arrayed in rich and gorgeous apparel, and di- 
vans with rich cushions were round about him. The 
walls and roof of a handsome mansion surrounded 
him, while slaves bowed obsequiously before him. 
"Ah," cried Hashnu, "now I am rich. Now shall I 
be happy!" and he thought no more of the huge 
stone by the roadside which he had been slowly 
shaping for its place in the Temple of Buddha. 

One day as he sat on his veranda a messenger 
came running by, shouting aloud, "The emperor! 
The emperor comes! Prepare ye the way!" Then 
Hashnu spread out his silken robes and stretched 
forth his feet, for his slippers were embroidered 
with precious jewels ; looking proudly about him at 
his costly surroundings he said to himself, "Ah, now 
will the great emperor see Hashnu and will notice 
him for his riches !" But the emperor and his caval- 
cade of nobles and priests and foreign ambassadors 
rode past and none saw Hashnu nor his riches, for 
all eyes were fixed upon the great emperor that each 
one might be ready to obey the slightest nod of his 
head or beck of his hand. 

Then Hashnu rose from the carved chair upon 
which he had been sitting, and buried his face in his 

i66 



CONTENTMENT 

hands and cried aloud, "Oh, Buddha, thou art wise 
and great. I am thy child ! Hear thou my cry ! My 
riches have not satisfied me. I would be an emperor ! 
Help me, oh Buddha!" 

And again from the farthest stars came sweeping 
down a mighty wind. And with the sound of the 
wind came a voice deep and low, but there was in 
the voice that which made all other sounds on earth 
cease, and the deep voice whispered to Hashnu, "Oh, 
blind one! thy prayer has been granted thee." 

Then Hashnu opened his eyes and beheld that he 
was an emperor seated on a throne of gold, and the 
throne of gold stood upon a floor of mother-of- 
pearl, and before him stood officers and nobles, and 
priests and foreign ambassadors arrayed in gor- 
geous apparel, each and every one of them anxiously 
watching him that they might know his will by the 
slightest nod of his head or beck of his hand. Then 
Hashnu said unto himself, "Nov\r am I great and I 
shall be happy !" 

After a time the summer came. With it came 
fierce heat, so great that Hashnu, the emperor, could 
find no relief from the fiery rays of the sun in any 
room of his palace, nor in any part of the gardens 
which surrounded his palace. Then he sent for the 

167 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

head steward of his household and said unto him: 
"Tell the sun to withdraw from my palace and from 
my gardens. For I, Hashnu, the emperor, so com- 
mand." Then the head steward fell upon his face 
before Hashnu, the emperor, and cried aloud : "All 
that a faithful steward can do I have done for thee. 
But the sun is mightier than all the emperors and 
kings of the earth and no mortal man can control 
him. He shineth where he chooseth and drinketh 
up the waters of the brooks and parcheth the face 
of the earth where he will ; even an emperor's palace 
may not escape his burning rays." 

Then Hashnu buried his face in his royal mantle 
and wept and cried out: "Oh, Buddha, thou wise 
and great one, I am thy child ! Hear thou my cry ! 
I would be the powerful sun who cares not for the 
anger of an emperor ! Help thou me, oh Buddha !" 

Then from the farthest star came sweeping down 
a mighty wind. And with the wind came a voice 
so deep and low that all other sounds on earth 
ceased as it spoke, and it whispered to Hashnu, the 
emperor: "Oh, blind one! thy prayer has been 
granted thee !" 

And lo and behold, Hashnu was changed into the 
sun and rolled through the heavens with a power 

1 68 



CONTENTMENT 

such as was never dreamed of by mortal man. Each 
morning he rose in the east and drank up the water 
in the brooks and scorched the fields and caused the 
trees and flowers in the garden of the emperor to 
wither and droop. Then the heart of Hashnu, which 
was alive in the center of the sun, exulted and said 
unto itself : "Ah, now that emperors and kings 
must bow down before me and flee from my fierce 
rays, I shall be happy." 

One day, however, the sun noticed a dark, sullen 
cloud rising slowly from the face of the sea and he 
sent his strongest rays down to pierce the cloud and 
scatter it, but the dark, sullen cloud swallowed up 
the ray and it was lost, while the cloud continued to 
grow larger and darker, and it spread out over the 
face of the heavens until it shut the earth away from 
the light of the sun. In vain the sun sent down ray 
after ray, even hundreds of rays, to pierce the cloud. 
It merely opened its mouth and swallowed them all 
and continued to grow darker and darker. 

Then the heart of Hashnu, which was in the cen- 
ter of the sun, cried out: "Oh, Buddha, thou wise 
and great one, I am thy child ! Hear thou my cry ! 
Make me to be the cloud which is stronger than the 
sun! Hear thou my cry, oh Buddha!" 

169 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Then from the farthest star came sweeping down 
a mighty wind. And with the wind came a voice 
deep and low, yet at the sound of that voice the 
thunder of the storm-cloud and the flash of light- 
nings were hushed, while all sounds on earth ceased 
as it whispered : "Oh, blind one ! thy prayer has been 
granted thee!" 

And lo and behold ! Hashnu was no longer in the 
center of the sun. He had become the dark, sullen 
storm-cloud which kept the rays of the sun from 
reaching the earth. Then the storm-cloud poured 
down torrents of rain that swelled the brooks and 
overflowed the fields and tore up the trees by the 
roots. And the heart of Hashnu, which entered the 
storm-cloud, cried out exultantly: "Now am I the 
strongest of all things, in heaven or on earth ! Even 
the sun can not conquer me! And all things on 
earth quail and flee before my wrath!" 

But beside the road was a huge rock of granite 
which moved not as the rain beat upon it. When 
the storm-cloud saw this It poured forth such a flood 
of rain as had never been seen before and it darted 
great flashes of lightning down upon the stone, 
and thundered until the heavens shook, but the rock 
lay quiet and undisturbed. 

170 



CONTENTMENT 

Then Hashnu cried out from the dark, sullen 
rain-cloud : "Oh, Buddha, thou great and wise one, I 
am thy child ! Hear thou my cry ! I have been de- 
ceived. That rock by the roadside is greater than I. 
I would be the huge stone that even the storm can 
not move. Hear thou my cry, oh Buddha !" 

Then came the sound of a mighty wind sweeping 
down from the farthest star. And with the wind 
came a voice deep and low. But at the sound of the 
voice the storm-cloud hushed, and all things on earth 
ceased to stir. Then the voice whispered : "Oh, 
blind one ! thy prayer has been granted thee !" 

And lo and behold, the dark, sullen storm-cloud 
was changed into a huge piece of granite rock that 
lay on the roadside and the heart of Hashnu entered 
into the silent rock and rejoiced exultantly and 
exclaimed: "Now am I the greatest of all the un- 
moved! Nothing can change me! I am stronger 
than the storms of heaven!" 

One day, however, the huge rock felt a pricking in 
its side and again another pricking. Prick, prick, 
prick came the sharp little pain and with it came the 
sound click ! click ! click ! and a bit of the huge sur- 
face fell off and the rock silently groaned. And 
the heart of Hashnu, which was within the rock, 

171 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

cried out: "Oh, Buddha, thou wise and great 
one, I am thy child ! Hear my prayer ! I am not all- 
powerful as I thought. I would that I were the 
tiny man who is hewing this rock into such shape as 
he chooses. I am powerless in his hands. Help 
thou me, oh Buddha !" 

Then once again sweeping down from the farthest 
star came the mighty wind. And with it came a 
voice deep and low, yet at the sound of that voice 
the sun, the moon and all the stars stood still and all 
other sounds on earth ceased while it whispered : 
"Oh, blind one, at last thou seest ! Be thou Hashnu, 
the stone-cutter! And sit by the roadside hewing 
and shaping the great rock for its place in the Tem- 
ple of Buddha!" 

A thousand years passed by and strangers came 
into the land where emperors and kings had once 
ruled, but whose bodies had long since been buried ; 
where rich men had accumulated vast fortunes; 
there were fields which the sun had parched and 
they were once more green and fertile; and the 
ravages which the storm had made were once more 
healed. But the Temple of Buddha stood grand and 
glorious in the midst of the valley. As the strangers 
gazed upon it their hearts stirred, for they saw how 

172 



CONTEISTTMENT 

perfectly fitted in its place was each glittering block 
of granite which the unknown cutters had hewn, 
day after day; that they might be fitted each for its 
place in the great Temple of Buddha. — Adapted. 



THE MILLER OF THE DEE 

By Charles Mackay 

There dwelt a miller, hale and bold. 

Beside the river Dee ; 
He worked and sang from morn to night. 

No lark more blithe than he ; 
And this the burden of his song 

Forever used to be : 
"I envy nobody ; no, not I, 

And nobody envies me !" 

"Thou 'rt wrong, my friend," said old King Hal, 
"As wrong as wrong can be ; 
For could my heart be light as thine, 

I'd gladly change with thee. 
And tell me now, what makes thee sing, 
With voice so loud and free, 
173 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

While I am sad, though I'm the king. 
Beside the river Dee." 

The miller smiled, and doffed his cap, 
"I can earn my bread," quoth he; 
"I love my wife, I love my friend, 
I love my children three ; 
I owe no penny I can not pay, 

I thank the river Dee 
That turns the mill that grinds the com, 
To feed my babes and me." 

"Good friend," said Hal, and sighed the while, 
"Farewell ! and happy be ; 
But say no more, if thou'dst be true, 

That no one envies thee. 
Thy mealy cap is worth my crown, 

Thy mill my kingdom's fee ; 
Such men as thou are England's boast, 
O miller of the Dee !" 



I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, there- 
with to be content. 

— St. Paul. 

174 



CONTENTMENT 

By Mary N. Prescott 

iWhen roses bloom so sweet and red 
And daisies lift their shining heads ; 
When birds are still in the brooding nest, — 
Of all the seasons summer is best. 

When the goldenrod's torches shine, — 
And the purple grapes drop ripe from the vine ; 
When the reddening maples light up the way, 
There is nothing so good as an autumn day. 

When the hills are white with snow, 
And only the f rostflowers dare to blow ; 
When sleighbells chime from far and near, — 
Winter's the best time of all the year. 

When the wild brooks begin to leap. 
And out of the earth the mosses creep; 
When swallows twitter, and robins call, — 
Spring is the very best time of all. 
175 



THE VIOLET 

By Jane Taylor 

Down in a green and shady bed 

A modest violet grew ; 
Its stalk was bent ; it hung its head, 

As if to hide from view. 

And yet it was a lovely flower. 

Its color bright and fair! 
It might have graced a rosy bower. 

Instead of hiding there. 

Yet there it was content to bloom. 

In modest tints arrayed. 
And there diffused its sweet perfume, 

Within the silent shade. 



Happy the man whose wish and care 

A few paternal acres bound, 
Content to breathe his native air. 

In his own ground. 

— Alexander Pope. 

176 



FORGIVENESS 



THE GRAY SWAN 
By Alice Gary 

*'0h tell me, sailor, tell me true, 
Is my little lad, my Elihu, 

A-sailing with your ship?" 
The sailor's eyes were dim with dew,- 
"Your little lad, your Elihu?" 

He said with trembling lip, — 
"What little lad? What ship: 



,?' 



"What little lad ! as if there could be 
Another such an one as he ! 

What little lad, do you say? 
Why, Elihu, that took to sea 
The moment I put him off my knee ! 
It was just the other day 
The Gray Swan sailed away." 

"The other day?" the sailor's eyes 
Stood open with a great surprise, — 
"The other day? the Swan?" 
179 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

His heart began in his throat to rise. 
'Aye, aye, sir, here in the cupboard lies 
The jacket he had on." 
"And so your lad is gone?" 

'Gone with the Swan." "And did she stand 
(With her anchor clutching hold of the sand, 

For a month and never stir?" 
'Why, to be sure ! I've seen from the land, 
Like a lover kissing his lady's hand, 

The wild sea kissing her, — 

A sight to remember, sir." 

'But, my good mother, do you know 
All this was twenty years ago? 

I stood on the Gray Swan's deck. 
And to that lad I saw you throw. 
Taking it off, as it might be, so ! 

The kerchief from your neck." 
"Aye, and he'll bring it back!" 

'And did the little lawless lad 

That has made you sick and made you sad. 

Sail with the Gray Swan's crew?" 
'Lawless ! the man is going mad ! 
The best boy ever mother had, — 
1 80 



FORGIVENESS- 

Be sure he sailed with the crew ! 
What would you have him do?" 

"And he has never written line, 
Nor sent you word, nor made you sign 
To say he was alive?" 
"Hold! if 'twas wrong, the wrong Is mine; 
Besides, he may be in the brine, 

And could he write from the grave? 
Tut, man! what would you have?" 

"Gone twenty years,— a long, long cruise,— 
'Twas wicked thus your love to abuse ; 

But if the lad still live. 
And come back home, think you you can 
Forgive him?" — "Miserable man. 

You're mad as the sea, — you rave,— 

What have I to forgive?" 

The sailor twitched his shirt so blue. 
And from within his bosom drew 
The kerchief. She was wild. 
"My God ! my Father ! is it true? 
My little lad, my Elihu ! 

My blessed boy, my child ! 
My dead, my living child !" 
i8i 



YUSSOUF 

By James Russell Lowell 

A stranger came one night to Yussouf's tent, 
Saying : "Behold one outcast and in dread, 

Against whose life the bow of power is bent, 
Who flies and has not where to lay his head ; 

I come to thee for shelter and for food, 

To Yussouf, called through all our tribes, 'The 
Good.' " 

"This tent is mine," said Yussouf, "but no more 
Than it is God's ; come in, and be at peace ; 

Freely shalt thou partake of all my store 
As I of His who buildeth over these 

Our tents his glorious roof of night and day, 

And at whose door none ever yet heard nay." 

So Yussouf entertained his guest that night. 

And, waking him ere day, said : "Here is gold ; 

My swiftest horse is saddled for thy flight, 
Depart before the prying day grows bold." 
182 



FORGIVENESS 

As one lamp lights another, nor grows less, 
So nobleness enkindleth nobleness. 

That inward light the stranger's face made grand, 
Which shines from all sel f -conquest ; kneeling 
low. 

He bowed his forehead upon Yussouf 's hand. 
Sobbing: "O, Sheik, I can not leave thee so; 

I will repay thee ; all this hast thou done 

Unto that Ibraham who slew thy son !'* 

"Take thrice the gold," said Yussouf, "for with thee 

Into the desert, never to return, 
My one black thought shall ride away from me ; 

First-born, for whom by day and night I yearn, 
Balanced and just are all of God's decrees ; 
Thou art revenged, my first-born, sleep in peace!" 



183 



HONOR 



HANS, THE SHEPHERD BOY 

Prince : How far is it to the nearest village, my 
boy? 

Hans : It is six miles, sir. But the road is only 
a sheep track, and it is very easy to miss it. 

Prince : My boy, I have been lost in this wood. 
I am tired and hungry. Leave your sheep here and 
show me the way, and I will pay you well. 

Hans: I can not leave the sheep, sir. They 
would stray into the wood and be eaten by wolves 
or taken by robbers. 

Prince: Well, what of that? They are not 
your sheep. The loss of one or two would not be 
much to your master, and I will give you more than 
you could earn in a whole year. 

Hans: Sir, I can not go. My master pays me 
to take care of his sheep and I can not leave them 
until my day's work is done. Besides, if any of the 
sheep were lost, I should be as much to blame as if 
I had taken them. 

187 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Prince: Well, then, will you trust your sheep 
with me, while you go to the village and get some 
food and a guide? I will take care of them for 
you. 

Hans : The sheep do not know your voice, and — 

Prince : And what ? Can't you trust me ? Do 
I look like a thief ? 

Hans : No, but you have tried to make me break 
my word to my master, and how do I know that you 
would keep your word ? 

Prince : You are right, my boy. I wish I could 
trust my servants as your master can trust you. 
Well, show me the sheep path of which you spoke 
and I will try to follow it without a guide. 

THE HONEST WOODMAN 

Once upon a time an honest man lived with his 
wife and children in a little house in the wood. 

Now you must know that this man was very poor. 

Early in the morning he went out with his ax to 
chop down the trees in the forest. All day he 
worked, until the night was so dark that he could 
see no longer. 

Then he went home to his wife and children. 
i88 



HONOR 

They, too, worked with all their might, but still 
the family was very poor. 

One day, as the woodman sat down at noon by 
the side of a river that ran through the woods, his 
ax slipped from his hands and fell into the water. 

"Ah, me," said the woodman sadly, "it was hard 
to get my living with an ax, but without it we shall 
starve !" 

And the poor man hid his face in his hands and 
groaned aloud. 

Then a soft light fell on his bowed head ; he heard 
the ripple of the water on the shore, and a sweet 
voice that said to him, "Look up, my friend ; why do 
you mourn so bitterly?" 

"Ah, me," said the woodman, "I have lost my ax 
in the water. My ax I valued as a brother. Where 
can I get another?" 

Now you must know that it was the water fairy 
who spoke to the woodman. 

In a moment she was gone. In another mo- 
ment he saw her again, lifting her face from the 
surface of the water, and bearing in her hand an ax 
of gold. 

"Is this your ax?" she asked; but the woodman 
shook his head. 

189 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

"Ah, no; my ax was never half so fine as that. 
That would buy mine a thousand times over, but it 
is not mine, it is not mine." 

Then the fairy sank again beneath the water. In 
a moment she came with a silver ax. 

*Ts this your ax?" she asked again. 

"No, it is not mine," replied the woodman ; "and 
yet it is worth much more than mine." 

Then the fairy sank again in the water. The 
third time she came up, she brought the woodman's 
ax in her arms. 

"Ah, that is my ax, that is my ax!" he cried joy- 
fully. 

"Yes," said the fairy, "this is the honest ax with 
which you earn the bread to feed your hungry chil- 
dren. Because you would not lie, the silver ax and 
the gold one shall both be yoUrs." 

The happy woodman thanked the good fairy, and 
bore his precious load to the little hut, only half 
believing the treasures to be his own. 

On the way he met a neighbor, a man who never 
liked to work, and who had spent all that he owned 
years before. 

"Oho!" said the neighbor, "where did you get 
those fine axes?" 

190 



HONOR 

Then the woodman told him. Away hurried the 
lazy man to try his luck at the river. Down went 
his ax into the water, and loudly did he cry. 

The water fairy came at the sound, and asked him 
why he mourned. 

"I have lost my ax ! I have lost my ax !" he cried, 
weeping bitterly. 

The fairy sank beneath the water. Soon she 
brought from the water an ax of gold. 

"Is this your ax?" she asked. 

"Yes," cried he greedily, "that is my ax." 

"No," said the fairy, "this is my ax, and it shall 
lie upon the shelf, while you must dive for yours." 

PSALM I 

Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel 
of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, 
nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. 

But his delight is in the law of the Lord ; and in 
his law doth he meditate day and night. 

And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers 
of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season ; 
his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he 
doeth shall prosper. 

191 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff 
which the wind driveth away. 

Therefore the ungodly shall not stand In the judg- 
ment, nor sinners in the congregation of the right- 
eous. 

For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous : 
but the way of the ungodly shall perish. 



A WORD TO BOYS 

By Horace Mann 

You are made to be kind, boys — generous, mag- 
nanimous. If there is a boy in school who has a 
club-foot, don't let him know you ever saw it. If 
there is a poor boy with ragged clothes, don't talk 
about rags in his hearing. If there is a lame boy, 
assign him some part in the game that doesn't re- 
quire running. If there is a hungry one, give him 
part of your dinner. If there is a dull one, help him 
get his lesson. If there is a bright one, be not en- 
vious of him; for if one boy is proud of his talents, 
and another is envious of them, there are two great 
wrongs, and no more talent than before. If a larger 

192 



HONOR 

or stronger boy has injured you, and is sorry for it, 
forgive him. All the school will show by their 
countenances how much better it is than to have a 
great fuss. 



193 



WORK 



THE FARMER AND HIS SONS 

By uiEsop 

There is a well-known story of an old farmer 
calling his three idle sons around him when on his 
death-bed, to impart to them an important secret. 
"My sons," said he, "a great treasure lies hid in the 
estate which I am about to leave to you." The old 
man gasped. "Where is it hid ?" exclaimed the sons 
in a breath. "I am about to tell you," said the old 
man; "you will have to dig for it." But his breath 
failed him before he could impart the weighty secret, 
and he died. Forthwith, the sons set to work upon 
the long-neglected fields, and they turned up every 
clod upon the estate. They discovered no treasure, 
but they learned to work; and when the fields were 
sown, the harvest came, in consequence of the thor- 
ough tillage which they had undergone. Then it 
was that they discovered the treasure concealed in 
the estate, of which their wise old father had spoken. 

197 



THE BUSY BEE 

By Isaac Watts 

How doth the little busy bee 
Improve each shining hour, 

And gather honey all the day 
From every opening flower ! 

How skilfully she builds her cell ! 

How neat she spreads the wax ! 
And labors hard to store it well 

iWith the sweet food she makes. 

In works of labor or of skill 

I would be busy too ; 
For Satan finds some mischief still 

For idle hands to do. 

In books, or work, or healthful play. 
Let my first years be passed. 

That I may give for every day 
Some good account at last. 
198 



SUCCESS IS KNOWING HOW 

By Newell Dwight Hillis 

Wealth is not in the things of iron, wood and 
stone. Wealth is in the brain that organizes the 
metal. Pig iron is worth twenty dollars a ton ; made 
into horse-shoes, ninety dollars; into knife-blades, 
two hundred dollars; into watch-springs, one thou- 
sand dollars. That is, raw iron, twenty dollars; 
brain power, nine hundred and eighty dollars. 

Millet bought a yard of canvas for one franc, paid 
two more francs for a hair brush and some colors; 
upon this canvas he spread his genius, giving us 
The Angelus. The original investment in raw ma- 
terial was sixty cents ; his intelligence gave that raw 
material a value of one hundred and five thousand 
dollars. 

One of the pictures at the World's Fair repre- 
sented a savage standing on the bank of a stream, 
anxious but ignorant as to how he could cross the 
flood. Knowledge toward the metal at his feet gave 
the savage an ax; knowledge toward the tree gave 

199 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

him a canoe ; knowledge toward the union of canoes 
gave him a boat ; knowledge toward the wind added 
sails; knowledge toward fire and water gave him 
the ocean steamer. 

Now, if from the captain standing on the prow 
of that floating palace, we could take away man's 
knowledge as we remove peel after peel from an 
onion, we would have from the iron steamer — first, 
a sailboat, then a canoe, then an ax and a tree, and at 
last, a savage, naked and helpless to cross a little 
stream. 



It is ignorance that wastes; it is knowledge that 
saves. 



2CK) 



FRIENDSHIP 



THE PINE AND THE FLAX 

By Albrekt Segerstedt 

Just where a forest ended grew a pine tree taller 
and more beautiful than all the others in the forest. 
Far away could be seen its feathery round crown, 
whose soft branches waved so gracefully when the 
wind blew across the plain. 

At the foot of the pine tree the fields of grain 
began. 

Here the farmer sowed seeds of many kinds, but 
the flax was sowed nearest the pine. It came up 
beautiful and even, and the pine thought a great deal 
of the slender green thing. 

The flax stalk raised itself higher and higher, 
and near the close of summer it bore a little blue 
helmet on its head. 

'Thou art so beautiful !" said the tall pine. 

The flax bowed itself low, but raised again so 
gracefully that it looked like a billowy sea. 

203 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

The pine and the flax often talked to each other 
and became great friends. 

"What folly!" said the other forest trees to the 
pine, "Do not have anything to do with the flax; 
it is so weak. Choose the tall spruce or the birch 
tree. They are strong." 

But the pine would not desert the flax. 

The thistle and other small plants talked to the 
flax. 

"You are crazy to think of the lofty pine. It 
does not trouble itselfi about you. It is tall and 
proud. Children of a size play best together. Think 
of the bush and vine and content yourself." 

"I shall trust the pine," replied the flax. "It is 
honorable and faithful and I am fond of it," 

So the pine and the flax remained friends. 

Time passed and the flax was pulled up and made 
into ropes and cloth. The pine was felled and 
its trunk carried to the city. But the pine and flax 
did not forget each other though neither knew 
where the other was. 

A large, beautiful ship was launched upon the 
water. On this the pine tree was erected as a mast, 
and on the highest part waved a flag. 

Then came a great white sail to help the mast 
carry the proud ship forward. It wrapped itself 

204 



FRIENDSHIP 

around the mast, spread itself out like a great wing 
and caught the wind on its wide curve. 

The sail had been woven of linen that grew as 
flax out in the field on the edge of the wood. And 
the two friends had met again. 

Clasping each other faithfully, out over the foam- 
ing billows they went to new lands. It was life, it 
was pleasure to go on united as friends. 

The wind took a message back to the forest. 

"Who would have believed it?" said the spruce 
and the birch. 



DAMON AND PYTHIAS 
By James Baldwin 

A young man whose name was Pythias had done 
something which the tyrant Dionysius did not like. 
For this offense he was dragged to prison, and a 
day was set when he should be put to death. His 
hom.e was far away, and he wanted to see his father 
and mother and friends before he died. 

"Only give me leave to go home and say good-by 
to those whom I love," he said, "and then I will 
come back and give up my life." 

205 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

The tyrant laughed at him. 

*'How can I know that you will keep your prom- 
ise?" he said. "You only want to cheat me, and 
save yourself." 

Then a young man whose name was Damon spoke 
and said, "O king! put me In prison in place of my 
friend Pythias, and let him go to his own country 
to put his affairs in order, and to bid his friends 
farewell. I know that he will come back as he has 
promised, for he is a man who has never broken his 
word. But if he is not here on the day which you 
have set, then I will die in his stead." 

The tyrant was surprised that anybody should 
make such an offer. He at last agreed to let Pythias 
go, and gave orders that the young man Damon 
should be shut up in prison. 

Time passed, and by and by the day which had 
been set for Pythias to die drew near; and he had 
not come back. The tyrant ordered the jailer to 
keep close watch upon Damon and not let him 
escape. But Damon did not try to escape. He still 
had faith in the truth and honor of his friend. He 
said: *Tf Pythias does not come back in time, it 
will not be his fault. It will be because he is hin- 
dered against his will." 

206 



FRIENDSHIP 

At last the day came, and then the very hour. 
Damon was ready to die. His trust in his friend 
was as firm as ever; and he said that he did not 
grieve at having to suffer for one whom he loved so 
much. 

Then the jailer came to lead him to his death ; but 
at the same moment Pythias stood at the door. He 
had been delayed by storms and shipwreck, and he 
had feared that he was too late. 

He greeted Damon and then gave himself into 
the hands of the jailer. He was happy because he 
thought that he had come in time, even though he 
realized that it was at the last moment. 

The tyrant was not so bad but that he could see 
good in others. He felt that men who loved and 
trusted each other as did Damon and Pythias, ought 
not to suffer unjustly. And so he set them both 
free. 

"I would give all my wealth to have one such 
friend," he said. 



A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born 
for adversity. 

— Proverbs. 
207 



HE THOUGHT OF IT 

It was the day after Christmas and the boys of 
the Jamestown school were enjoying an afternoon 
on the well- frozen pond. Not all of the boys were 
there. Oliver Wilson had reached the door of his 
mother's house, and with his new skates swinging by 
a strap, in one hand, and his cap in the other, he was 
about to start on a run to join the others when he 
happened to notice Philip Smith walking slowly 
down the street. Oliver's first thought was one of 
pity, for he knew Phil was the only boy in the school 
who did not own a pair of skates. "I should like to 
lend him mine," thought Oliver; "Phil was so good 
to me while father was sick. But what would I do 
for skates, myself?" 

Then he remembered his old pair and thought of 
offering them. But one of the straps was gone and 
both the buckles were badly bent. 

By the time these thoughts had passed through 
Oliver's mind Philip Smith had turned the corner 
and was out of sight. The boys' shouts reached 
Oliver's ears and soon he was off to the pond. 

208 



FRIENDSHIP 

Not thirty minutes had passed before the boys 
noticed, standing on the shore, their schoolmate, 
Phihp Smith. With eager desire in his thin face 
and dark eyes he watched the skaters in their jolly 
sport. Oliver, as soon as he saw this longing look, 
made one big, quick circle on the ice and then a 
rapid stride for the shore where Philip stood. 

Quickly unfastening his skates he said, "Oh say, 
Phil, keep my skates till I come back; I've a little 
work to do at home. I mean, use the skates while I 
am gone." 

Phil lost no time in fastening the skates on to his 
own feet and, before he knew it, two hours had 
passed and Oliver had not returned. "Where's 
Oliver?" said one of the boys as the day began to 
darken. No one knew, and Phil could not imagine 
what work kept his friend busy so long. 

A little later Phil and another boy, going toward 
the house, saw a bright light which tempted them to 
peep in at the window. There in the middle of the 
floor, with straps and screws and tools about him, 
sat Oliver mending a pair of old skates. 

A minute passed while the boys watched Oliver at 
work, then a little light snowball hit the window- 
pane, and Oliver, looking up, saw the boys. Running 

209 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

quickly to the door, he asked them in. Then seating 
himself he turned to his job of mending, which was 
soon finished. 

Holding up the skates he said, "Here, Phil, is your 
Christmas present. A little late, but the ice will be 
grand for the next week." 

With a look of surprise mixed with joy Philip 
stammered out his thanks as he took the skates from 
Oliver's hand. 

The next day as Oliver was fastening on his own 
shiny skates and having the pleasure of seeing Phil's 
enjoyment, the boy who had been with them the 
evening before said, "I had an old pair I could have 
given Phil if I had only thought of it." 

Now, boys and girls, there are many kind things 
that we could do if only, like Oliver, we thought 
of it. 



He prayeth well who loveth well 
Both man and bird and beast. 

He prayeth best who loveth best 
All things both great and small ; 

For the dear God who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all. 

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 

210 



THE LION AND THE MOUSE 

By yEsop 

A lion was awakened from sleep by a mouse 
running over his face. Rising up in anger, he caught 
him and was about to kill him, when the mouse 
piteously entreated, saying: "If you would only 
spare my life, I would be sure to repay your kind- 
ness." The lion laughed and let him go. It happened 
shortly after this that the lion was caught by some 
hunters, who bound him by strong ropes to the 
ground. The mouse, recognizing his roar, came up, 
and gnawed the rope with his teeth and setting him 
free, exclaimed: "You ridiculed the idea of my 
ever being able to help you, not expecting to receive 
from me any repayment of your favor; but now you 
know that it is possible for even a mouse to confer 
benefits on a lion." 



211 



SERVICE 



MY AIM 

By George Lennaeres Banks 

I live for those who love me. 

Whose hearts are kind and true, 
For the heaven that smiles above me, 

And awaits my spirit, too ; 
For all human ties that bind me, 
For the task my God assigned me. 
For the bright hopes left behind me. 
And the good that I can do. 

I live to hail that season, 

By gifted minds foretold. 
When man shall live by reason. 

And not alone by gold ; 
When man to man united. 
And every wrong thing righted, 
The whole world shall be lighted. 
As Eden was of old. 

215 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

I live for those who love me, 

For those who know me true, 
For the heaven that smiles above me, 

And awaits my spirit, too ; 
For the cause that lacks assistance. 
For the wrong that needs resistance. 
For the future in the distance, 
And the good that I can do. 



THE HEMLOCK LOG 

By H. Abby 

Gilbert lay on the rug before a bright wood fire. 
He watched the sparks fly upward, crackling and 
dancing, then whirling away up the chimney. 

All was quiet. The house cat purred upon the 
settle by the chimneypiece, the clock slowly ticked 
on the mantel-shelf, the fire hissed and crackled. 
Without there raged a fierce storm. The north 
wind moaning through the leafless trees beat the 
snow and sleet in angry gusts against the window- 
pane. 

Gilbert watched the dancing sparks and the log. 
216 



SERVICE 

"I wonder where you came from, you rough tree 
trunk; you must have been part of a fine straight 
tree in your day, perhaps standing in some dark 
forest. I should hke to know your history. I won- 
der why you were cut down." 

"Long ago," said the log, "a seed blew off a hem- 
lock tree and fell on a soft, moist spot. It sank 
into the ground and fell asleep. 

"After the winter was over the seed began to stir 
and push its covering off. At last it could look up 
at the sky. And so it grew and after many sum- 
mers it became a tree with spreading branches. 

"One day late in the fall two men came to the 
wood. The leaves had fallen from most of the 
trees, only the hemlock was green. The men ad- 
mired its graceful, spreading branches and one said : 
'This, Peter, is the tree I want ; put a mark upon it 
and cut it down on Christmas Eve.' 

"Peter cut a sign upon the tree and the two 
walked on. , 

"The hemlock shivered and said, 'Cut me down 
after these long years of struggle to grow, and pre- 
vent me from ever reaching that blue sky ?' 

"But as it rocked to and fro, tossing its branches 
in despair, a voice in its heart seemed to say, 'Cease 

217 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

this useless moaning; that which you long for can 
never be gained by your living here and growing. 
Do not cry; the best can only be gained by living 
for others.' 

"Then the hemlock became strong and all the 
forest marveled at its perfect beauty. 

"A day came when the ax did its work and the 
tree came crashing to the ground. 

"Gilbert, I was that tree! They drew me to the 
house, placed me in a large room where noble men 
and gentle women dressed me with balls and gold 
stars; boys and girls threw glittering silver threads 
over and about me. I could hear their voices full 
of kindness and good-will, and I thought after all it 
was not hard to live far from my forest home. 

"Then came Christmas day. I could hear the 
hum of children's voices and the patter of little feet. 
Then men came and lighted candles and in a mo- 
ment the door was thrown open and there I stood, 
beautiful and happy, as the whole company gazed 
in silent wonder. 

"Then the people danced around and sang: 

" 'There's a wonderful tree, a wonderful tree. 
That happy children rejoice to see.' 
218 



SERVICE 

"Never had I heard sweeter sounds than the 
music made by those children. They had a merry 
time playing, and admiring me, sometimes hiding 
under my branches. 

"I felt very happy — I was pleasing others. 

"The little ones went away at bedtime. I remem- 
bered their happiness. 

"Then came a day of sadness. I thought this was 
the end. A voice said, 'Peace; wait and see.' 

"Peter cut me limb from limb and hewed me 
into fire-wood; but, Gilbert, this is my day of tri- 
umph, for as each spark that flies upward takes its 
flight higher and higher into the pure, blue atmos- 
phere, I think : This is a part of me, and I am going 
to a place called the sky, for which in my early days 
I longed." 

WHAT ONE CAN DO 

Once a farmer, who had plowed his field, planted 
it with corn, and carefully cared for it, became very 
sad because no rain fell to water it. He had nothing 
else to depend on for support and, as the corn began 
to droop, he began to lose hope. As he stood in the 
field one day, a small cloud floated over his head. 

219 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

One wee raindrop in this little cloud saw the dis- 
couraged farmer and said to itself, "I seem to be do- 
ing no good here ; I wonder if I could help that man 
who is so depressed." Quick as thought, it started 
to earth. 

Seeing this drop descending, two others followed. 
They were not far on the way when the whole cloud 
of drops joined them and falling in a soft shower, 
lifted the blades of corn and brought cheer to the 
farmer's heart. 



ABOU BEN ADHEM 

By Leigh Hunt 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase). 
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
And saw within the moonlight in his room, 
Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, 
An angel writing in a book of gold : 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold. 
And to the presence in the room he said, 
"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head. 
And, with a look made all of sweet accord, 

220 



SERVICE 

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." 
"And is mine one ?" said Abou ; "Nay, not so," 
RepHed the angel. — Abou spoke more low, 
But cheerly still ; and said, "I pray thee, then. 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night 
It came again, with a great wakening light. 
And showed the names whom love of God had 

blessed. 
And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 



NAHUM PRINCE 

By Edward Everett Hale 

This is the story of Nahum Prince, and the tears 
are in my eyes now as I think of him. He must 
have lived a hundred or more years ago, and he died, 
I do not know when. He was lame. Something 
had mashed his foot so that he could hardly walk. 

It was at the time of the fighting with Burgoyne, 
and General Lincoln was at the front, and was or- 
dering out every man from the New Hampshire 
grants and western New Hampshire. And all the 

221 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

regular companies of troops had been marched out. 
Then there came the final call for all who could go, 
and all the old men and boys volunteered ; and there 
was not a boy over thirteen years of age in the vil- 
lage that didn't go, except Nahum Prince. When 
they were getting ready to go he stood up, as well 
as he could, with an old Queen Anne's arm on his 
shoulder. And the captain came along and saw him, 
and said : 

"Nahum, you here!" 

"Yes, I am here," said Nahum. 

Then the captain said : "Go home, Nahum ; you 
know you don't belong here; you can not walk a 
mile." 

So he called to the doctor, and the doctor said: 
"Nahum, it's no use ; you must go home." 

Then they all marched off without him. Rub-a- 
dub-dub, rub-a-dub-dub, went the drums ; and every 
man and boy of them went off and left poor Nahum 
Prince alone. He had a good home, but he was 
very homesick all that night, and didn't sleep much ; 
and the next morning he said : "I shall die before 
night if I stay here all alone, the only boy in town; 
I must do something." It was coming autumn. It 
was not late, but he knew he must do something ; so 

■222 



SERVICE 

he went down and split old Widow Corliss' wood 
for her, for he could split wood though he could not 
march. He had not been splitting wood more than 
an hour when four men on horseback came down 
the road and stopped. He could see them stand and 
talk. They all went off, and then one came back 
again and beckoned to Nahum; and when he came 
up, the man on horseback said : 

"Where are all the men gone?" 

"They have all gone off to join the army," an- 
swered Nahum. 

"And isn't there any blacksmith in the town?" 

"No, there isn't a man or boy in the town except 
me, and I wouldn't be here only I am so lame I can 
not walk." 

"Do you mean to tell me that there is nobody 
here who can set a shoe ?" 

"Why, I can set a shoe," said Nahum. 

"Then it is lucky you are left behind. Light up 
the forge, and set the shoe." 

And now comes the most interesting part of the 
story. Nahum lighted up the fire, blew the coals 
hot, and set the shoe on the horse ; and the horse and 
the rider went away, after the man had thanked Na- 
hum; and Nahum finished splitting the widow's 

223 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

"S 

wood. And when the next week the boys came 
home, and told how Colonel Seth Warner came up 
on his horse just in time, leading the First Regi- 
ment, and took the prisoners and won the day, Na- 
hum didn't say anything, but he knew that Colonel 
Warner never would have been on that horse if he 
hadn't set that shoe. And it was Nahum Prince and 
Seth Warner that won the splendid victory which 
ended the Battle of Bennington. 



WHERE TO LOOK 

By Alice Freeman Palmer 

"Look up, and not down!" Do you see how the 
tree-top 
Rejoices in sunshine denied to its root ? 
And hear how the lark, gazing skyward, is flooding 
The world with his song, while the ground-bird is 
mute? 

"Look out, and not in!" See the sap rushing out- 
ward! 
In leaf, bud and blossom all winter it lay 
224 



SERVICE 

Imprisoned, while earth wore a white desolation ; 
Now Nature is glad with the beauty of May. 

"Look forward, not back!" 'Tis the chant of Crea- 
tion, 

The chime of the seasons as onward they roll; 
'Tis the pulse of the world, 'tis the hope of the ages, 

'Tis the voice of our God in the depths of the soul. 

"Lend a hand !" Like the sun that turns night into 
morning. 
The moon that guides storm-driven sailors to 
land. 
Ah! life were worth living, with this for the watch- 
word, 
"Look up, out and forward, and each lend a 
hand!" 



Small service is true service while it lasts. 

Of humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not 
one: 
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts. 

Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun. 
— William Wordsworth. 
225 



THE STONE IN THE ROAD 

By Sarah L. Arnold 

There was once a very rich man who Hved in a 
beautiful castle near a village. He loved the people 
who lived in the village and tried to help them. He 
planted beautiful trees near their houses, and made 
picnics for their children, and every Christmas he 
gave them a Christmas tree. 

But the people did not like to work. They were 
very unhappy because they, too, were not rich like 
their friend in the castle. 

One day this man got up very early in the morn- 
ing, and placed a large stone in the road that led 
past his home. Then he hid himself behind the 
hedge, and waited to see what would happen. 

By and by a poor man came along, driving a cow. 
He scolded because the stone lay in his path, but he 
walked around it and went on his way. 

Then a farmer came, on his way to the mill. He 
complained because the stone was there, but he, too, 
drove around it and went on his way. 

So the day passed. Every one who came by 
scolded because the stone lay in the road, but nobody 
touched it. 

226 



SERVICE 

At last, just at nightfall, the miller's boy came 
past. He was very tired, because he had been busy 
since early morning, at the mill. 

But he said to himself : "It is almost dark. Some- 
body may fall over this stone in the night, and per- 
haps be badly hurt. I will move it out of the way." 

So he tugged at the heavy stone. It was hard 
to move, but he pulled, and pushed, and lifted until 
at last he moved it from its place. To his surprise 
he found a bag lying beneath it. 

He lifted the bag. It was heavy, for it was filled 
with gold. Upon it was written: "This gold be- 
longs to the one who moves the stone." 

HOW TO HELP 

[Authorship Unknown] 

To have willing feet, 
A smile that is sweet, 

A kind, pleasant word for all that you meet, 
That's what it is to be helpful ! 

In a mild, gentle way, 
To help through the day, 
To make some one happy in work or in play, 
That's what it is to be helpful ! 
227 



THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE 
TREE 

By William Cullen Bryant 

Come, let us plant the apple tree. 
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade ; 
Wide let its hollow bed be made ; 
There gently lay the roots, and there 
Sift the dark mold with kindly care. 

And press it o'er them tenderly, 
As round the sleeping infant's feet 
We softly fold the cradle sheet ; 

So plant we the apple tree. 

What plant we in this apple tree? 
Buds, which the breath of summer days 
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays ; 
Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast, 
Shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest ; 

We plant, upon the sunny lea, 
A shadow for the noontide hour, 
A shelter from the summer shower. 

When we plant the apple tree. 
228 



SERVICE 

What plant we in this apple tree ? 
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs. 
To load the May wind's restless wings, 
When, from the orchard row, he pours 
Its fragrance through our open doors ; 

A world of blossoms for the bee, 
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room. 
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom. 

We plant with the apple tree. 

What plant we in this apple tree ? 
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, 
And redden in the August noon, 
And drop, when gentle airs come by, 
That fan the blue September sky. 
While children come, with cries of glee, 
And seek them where the fragrant grass 
Betrays their bed to those who pass, 

At the foot of the apple tree. 

And when, above this apple tree. 
The winter stars are quivering bright, 
The winds go howling through the night. 
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth, 
Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth. 

And guests in prouder homes shall see, 
229 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine. 
And golden orange of the Hne, 
The fruit of the apple tree. 

The fruitage of this apple tree. 
Winds and our flag of stripe and star 
Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, 
Where men shall wonder at the view. 
And ask in what fair groves they grew ; 

And sojourners beyond the sea 
Shall think of childhood's careless day, 
And long, long hours of summer play, 

In the shade of the apple tree. 

Each year shall give this apple tree 
A broader flush of roseate bloom, 
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom. 
And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower, 
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. 

The years shall come and pass, but we 
Shall hear no longer, where we lie, 
The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh, 

In the boughs of the apple tree. 

And time shall waste this apple tree. 
Oh, when its aged branches throw 
230 



SERVICE 

Thin shadows on the ground below, 
Shall fraud and force and iron will 
Oppress the weak and helpless still ? 

What shall the tasks of mercy be, 
Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears 
Of those who live when length of years 

Is wasting this apple tree ? 

"Who planted this old apple tree ?" 
The children of that distant day 
Thus to some aged man shall say ; 
And, gazing on its mossy stem. 
The gray-haired man shall answer them : 

"A poet of the land was he. 
Born in the rude but good old times ; 
'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes 
On planting the apple tree." 



In all the affairs of human life, social as well as 
political, I have remarked that courtesies of a small 
and trivial character are the ones that strike deepest 
to the grateful and appreciating heart.- — Henry 
Clay. 



They also serve who only stand and wait. 

— John Milton. 
231 



THE TULIP BULBS 

September had been clear and bright, but when 
October came the skies were a sober gray. One 
day, however, toward its close the whole heavens 
were blue as skies of June. On this day two tulip 
bulbs were dropped into two small holes in the dark, 
damp earth and covered over till not a ray of light 
nor a breath of air could reach them. 

"What is all this for? I see no use in this con- 
finement. Why are we shut away from light and 
air?" complained the larger bulb. 

"Haven't you heard," said the smaller bulb, "that 
this treatment is given to all of our kind, that we 
may grow and blossom in the spring ?" 

"Some such story has reached my ears," the 
larger one replied. "But, you silly little bulb, don't 
you know there is nothing over us but a few inches 
of dirt, and some cold night you and I will freeze 
to death?" 

Upon the maple tree in the corner of the yard 
there had been swinging in the breeze and smiling 
back at the bright sun, a number of very beautiful 
leaves. 

232 



SERVICE 

Two of them on the end of a long branch began to 
hold a conversation one autumn day. 

"This has been a glorious summer," remarked 
the smaller of the two. "How delightful life is up 
here in the sweet air ! And then, too, to feel that one 
has been of some service in the world, for you and 
I have willingly helped to make cool shade on this 
lawn every sunny afternoon since we have been 
grown-up leaves." 

"Yes," answered the larger and darker leaf, "this 
has been very pleasant, and, as you say, gratifying 
to feel that our lives have been useful ; but I begin 
to realize that this is about the end of all things for 
us, for, as you must know, winter is near at hand 
and we must soon fall to the ground and die. Why, 
I can feel myself wither now when I think of it! 
Haven't you noticed the sun is less warm? And 
that breeze yesterday made me shiver." 

"But we may be of some use yet, though I'm sure 
I can't say what," replied the smaller leaf. "And 
I remember that last winter you complained of such 
a narrow life shut up in your little brown scales 
when you were only a bud. I will not despair." 

November winds were bleak and chill as they 
blew through the maple branches. Two brown leaves 

233 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

on the end of a long branch found they could hold 
on no longer and soon felt themselves carried away 
by a chill blast and landed on a garden-bed. Hun- 
dreds and hundreds of brown leaves fell and were 
huddled together against a stone wall. 

"O," said the little brown bulb in the dark earth, 
to its neighbor close by, "did you hear all that 
rustling? I do believe we are safely covered over 
with leaves and will be kept alive till spring." 

"O, how silly you are !" answered the larger bulb. 
"The next windy day all these leaves will be swept 
off this bed." 

Thanksgiving Day was dark and chill. Gray 
clouds covered the blue. Two snowflakes on their 
way to earth began to wonder within themselves why 
they had been sent down to the garden where they 
seemed to be going. 

One said to the other: "How the children will 
rejoice to see us coming, all of us together! And 
how beautifully white we shall look as we cover the 
dry grass and brown earth !" 

"Don't you believe it," said the larger snowflake; 
for it was the little one who had spoken. "We are 
just as likely to fall on that walk and hear the gar- 
dener say, 'Now I have the job of shoveling off all 

234 



SERVICE 

that snow,' and away we shall be tossed. No beauty- 
does he see in us!" 

But these two did not fall on the walk. No, they 
came down soft as feathers and landed on top of a 
pile of brown maple leaves that were heaped to- 
gether on a garden bed beside a stone wall. 

"Something soft and warm has covered us over," 
said the little brown bulb underneath the snow and 
leaves. "The prospects are we shall be kept warm 
all winter." 

"The prospects are, my silly friend," said the 
larger bulb, "that this snow will melt and there will 
be a freeze and a thaw, and freeze and thaw will 
keep up till we are frozen to death." 

"I shall hope for the best, at any rate," said the 
little one. So, contented, it rested. 

There was another snow-storm and another. Af- 
ter that came bitter cold days, but the tulip bulbs 
were safe under the leaves and under the snow. 

When the warm spring days came new life 
seemed to thrill them through. 

"Did you hear that ?" said a little brown leaf to its 
neighbor, who had been lying close to it all the win- 
ter under the snow on a garden bed close to a stone 
wall. "The gardener says that we leaves have pro- 

235 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

tected the tulip bulbs all this long, cold winter, and 
now he sees little shoots peeping above the ground. 
It is gratifying to know that we have protected some 
life." 

"Yes, I admit that it is gratifying, far more so 
than I had ever thought it could be, to be of some 
use. But now our work is done and this is the last 
of us, though I confess I should like to feel that I 
might still be of use." 

"You are not hopeful, my friend," replied the 
small, brown, withered leaf. "I heard the gardener 
say as he was examining this bed, something about 
leaf mold being very valuable for his garden. I am 
sure he was thinking of us." 

A little more warmth began to come with the 
early spring sunshine ; soft rains fell upon the earth, 
and one morning about ten o'clock two tulip flowers 
were seen lifting their dainty cups to catch the sun. 
One was shorter than the other, but it stood up just 
as straight on its little green stem. Its cup was 
small, but it never thought of drooping. 

Soon a child's voice called to the gardener : "Hur- 
rah! here are two tulips in bloom; the first ones! 
Cut them for me, for I must take them to mother; 
she is better to-day and I may see her!" 

236 



SERVICE 

Off came the tulips and a little hand carried Ikem 
carefully up the steps, through the hall and into the 
room where a white face lay on a pillow scarcely 
more white. Then with the sweetest of smiles that 
ever shone on the face of a little son, the boy laid 
the two tulips in the hand of the dear mother, and 
kissing softly the pale cheek said, "These are for 
you, with your little William's love." 

Later the nurse placed the tulips in a thin glass 
vase on the stand where they were kept for days. 

"Isn't this all lovely?" said the small tulip as it 
still endeavored to hold up its head. 

"It has been," said the larger tulip, "but to-mor- 
row we shall die and be thrown out, and that will be 
the end." 

"But," said the dainty one, "didn't you notice that 
as we came into the room Love entered with us? 
Didn't you see the loving smile of the little boy as 
he placed us in his mother's hand? Didn't you 
realize the love that was in that soft kiss and hear 
the child say, 'These are for you, with your little 
William's love ?' And Love can not die !" 



All service ranks the same with God. 

— Robert Browning. 

237 



LITTLE AND GREAT 

By Charles Mackay 

A traveler, through a dusty road, 

Strewed acorns on the lea; 
And one took root and sprouted up, 

And grew into a tree. 
Love sought its shade at evening time. 

To breathe its early vows ; 
And Age was pleased, in heats of noon, 

To bask beneath its boughs. 
The dormouse loved its dangling twigs. 

The birds sweet music bore ; 
It stood a glory in its place, 

A blessing evermore. 

A little spring had lost its way 

Amid the grass and fern ; 
A passing stranger scooped a well, 

Where weary men might turn. 
He walled it in, and hung with care 

A ladle at the brink ; 
238 



SERVICE 

He thought not of the deed he did. 
But judged that Toil might drink. 

He passed again — and lo ! the well, 
By summers never dried, 

Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues. 
And saved a life beside. 

A dreamer dropped a random thought ; 

'Twas old — and yet 'twas new ; 
A simple fancy of the brain, 

But strong in being true. 
It shone upon a genial mind. 

And lo ! its light became 
A lamp of life, a beacon ray, 

A monitory flame. 
The thought was small — its issue great, 

A watch fire on the hill ; 
It sheds its radiance far adown, 

And cheers the valley still. 

A nameless man, amid a crowd 
That thronged the daily mart, 

Let fall a word of hope and love. 
Unstudied, from the heart. 

A whisper on the tumult thrown, 

239 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

A transitory breath, 
It raised a brother from the dust. 

It saved a soul from death. 
O germ ! O fount ! O word of love ! 

O thought at random cast ! 
Ye were but little at the first, 

But mighty at the last. 

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE 

Born of Italian soil and sunshine, reared in a 
sweet, simple, intellectual atmosphere, full of love 
and benevolence, Florence Nightingale grew to 
womanhood with intense sympathy and desire for 
service. When the Crimean War broke out, the ac- 
counts of the sufferings of the British soldiers, and 
their destitute condition inspired her to devote her- 
self to the splendid work of ministering to the sick 
and wounded. 

To become fitted for her task she frequently vis- 
ited hospitals in England and France and studied 
nursing that she might have knowledge and experi- 
ence to enable her to carry out her plans. 

What great joy was hers when she found herself 
able to serve the sick and wounded soldiers! It 

240 



SERVICE 

was a task which required sacrifices. Miss Night- 
ingale had money that might have been devoted to 
selfish pleasures, but which she preferred to use for 
the sufifering and desolate, the weak and oppressed. 

As she passed through the wards of the hospital, 
which the government gave into her charge, some 
tired sufferer seemed to grow better if he could but 
hear her speak, and some said that nothing could be 
more soothing than her smile. 

The awful war continued, and Miss Nightingale 
was able to call to her aid a band of skilled nurses 
whom her own spirit inspired to succeed. The 
tender ministries of Florence Nightingale will long 
be remembered after the names of the generals who 
fought the Crimean War have been forgotten. 



A raindrop is a little thing, 

But on the thirsty ground, 
It helps to make the flowers of spring. 

And beauty spread aiiound. 
A ray of light may seem to be 

Lost in the blaze of day ; 
But its sweet mission God can see. 

Who sends it on its way. 

— Colesworthy. 
241 



rEUBAL CAIN 

By Charles Mackay 

Old Tubal Cain was a man of might 

In the days when earth was young ; 
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright 

The strokes of his hammer rung; 
And he lifted high his brawny hand 

On the iron glowing clear, 
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers 

As he fashioned the sword and spear. 
And he sang, — "Hurrah for my handiwork! 

Hurrah for the Spear and Sword ! 
Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well, 

For he shall be king and lord !" 

To Tubal Cain came many a one, 
As he wrought by his roaring fire. 

And each one prayed for a strong steel blade, 
As the crown of his desire. 

And he made them weapons sharp and strong. 
Till they shouted loud for glee, 
242 



SERVICE 

And gave him gifts of pearls and gold, 

And spoils of the forest tree. 
And they sang, — "Hurrah for Tubal Cain, 

Who hath given us strength anew ! 
Hurrah for the smith ! Hurrah for the fire ! 

And hurrah for the metal true !" 

But a sudden change came o'er his heart. 

Ere the setting of the sun ; 
And Tubal Cain was filled with pain 

For the evil he had done. 
He saw that men with rage and hate. 

Made war upon their kind; 
And the land was red with the blood they shed 

In their lust for carnage, blind. 
And he said, — "Alas ! that ever I made. 

Or that skill of mine should plan 
The spear and the sword for men whose joy 

Is to slay their fellow-man !" 

And for many a day old Tubal Cain 

Sat brooding o'er his woe ; 
And his hand forbore to smite the ore. 

And his furnace smoldered low. 
But he rose at last with a cheerful face, 
243 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

And a bright courageous eye, 
And bared his strong right arm for work, 

(While the quick flames mounted high. 
And he sang, — "Hurrah for my handiwork!" 

As the red sparks lit the air; 
Vot alone for the blade was the bright steel made, 

As he fashioned the First Plowshare. 

And men taught wisdom from the Past 

In friendship joined their hands. 
Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wallj, 

And plowed the willing lands ; 
And sang, — "Hurrah for Tubal Cain ! 

Our stanch good friend is he. 
And for the Plowshare and the Plow 

To him our praise shall be. 
But while Oppression lifts its head 

Or a tyrant would be lord. 
Though we may thank him for the Plow 

We'll not forget the Sword !" 



*T expect to pass through life but once. H there 
is any kindness or any good thing I can do to my 
fellow-beings let me do it now. I shall pass this 
way but once." — William Penn. 

244 



THE BUTTERFLIES 

Out in a beautiful meadow lived three golden 
butterflies. They flew about among the grasses and 
played in the sunshine all day long. 

One day they found a little white butterfly caught 
in a great spider's web. When they saw this, the 
golden butterflies felt very sorry for the white one, 
and tried to help it. It was very hungry, so they 
brought it some honey to eat. Then they tried to 
take it out of the web. 

At first they were afraid to touch the web, for 
fear they, too, would be caught ; but they soon found 
how to do it. All three of them would fly against 
the same thread at the same time, and it would break 
in two. 

So they worked a long time, breaking the little 
threads one by one, until they set the white butterfly 
free. How happy they were — the white butterfly 
and the three golden ones! 

Sometimes they flew about in the air above the 
flowers and grasses. Sometimes, when the sun shone 
and the grass sang a little low song to itself, they 
rocked to and fro on the flowers and listened to it. 

245 



HELP ONE ANOTHER 

By G. Hunting 

"Help one another," the snowflakes said, 
As they cuddled down In their fleecy bed; 

"One of us here would not be felt, 
One of us here would quickly melt ; 
But I'll help you, and you help me. 
And then what a big drift we'll see !" 

"Help one another," the maple spray 
Said to its fellow leaves one day ; 

"The sun would wither me here alone, 
Long enough ere the day Is gone ; 
But I'll help you and you help me. 
And then what a splendid shade there'll be !" 

"Help one another," the dewdrop cried. 
Seeing another drop close to its side ; 

"This warm south breeze would dry me away, 
And I should be gone ere noon to-day ; 
But I'll help you and you help me. 
And we'll make a brook and run to the sea." 

"Help one another," a grain of sand 
246 



SERVICE 

Said to another grain just at hand ; 
'The wind may carry me over the sea, 
And then, O what will become o£ me? 
But come, my brother, give me your hand ; 
We'll build a mountain and there we'll stand." 

And so the snowflakes grew to drifts. 
The grains of sand to mountains. 

The leaves became a pleasant shade. 
The dewdrops fed the fountains. 



WHICH LOVED BEST? 

By Joy Allison 

"I love you, mother," said little John ; 
Then, forgetting his work, his cap went on. 
And he was off to the garden swing. 
And left her wood and water to bring. 

"I love you, mother," said rosy Nell, 
*T love you better than tongue can tell." 
Then she teased and pouted full half the day, 
Till her mother rejoiced when she went to play. 
247 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

"I love you, mother," said little Fan ; 

"To-day I'll help you all I can. 
How glad I am that school doesn't keep !" 
So she rocked the baby till it fell asleep. 

Then, stepping softly, she brought the broom, 
And swept the floor, and tidied the room ; 
Busy and happy all day was she, 
Helpful and happy as child could be. 

"I love you, mother," again they said — 
Three little children going to bed. 
How do you think that mother guessed 
Which of them really loved her best ? 



THE SONG OF THE BROOK 

[Authorship Unknown] 

A little brook went surging 

O'er golden sands along, 
And as I listened to it 

It whispered in its song. 

"Beneath the steady mountain," 
I thought I heard it say, 
248 



SERVICE 

"My crystal waters started 
Upon their winding way. 

"I fondly hoped that flowers 
Would bloom upon each side, 
And sunshine always cheer me 
Wherever I might glide. 

"Through barren heaths and lonely 
My way has often led. 
Where golden sunshine never 
Has cheered my gloomy bed. 

"O'er rocks I've had to travel ; 
O'er precipices steep 
I onward have been driven, 
And madly made to leap. 

"The winds have sighed around me, 
The clouds in darkness hung, 
And sadness has been mingled 
With music I have sung. 

"But still wherever running, 
My hfe has not been vain; 
249 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

I've helped to grow the forests 
That wave across the plain. 

"The forests build the cities, 

And ships that sail the sea, 
And the mighty forests gather 
Their nourishment from me.'' 



BEAUTIFUL THINGS 

By Ellen Palmer Allerton 

Beautiful faces they that wear 
The light of a pleasant spirit there, 
It matters little if dark or fair. 

Beautiful hands are they that do 
The work of the noble, good and true, 
Busy for them the long day through. 

Beautiful feet are they that go 
Swiftly to lighten another's woe 
Through summer's heat or winter's snow. 
250 



JUNE 

By James Russell Lowell 

Whether we look, or whether we Hsten, 
We hear Hfe murmur, or see it ghsten. 
Every clod feels a stir of might, 

An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 
And, groping blindly above it for light. 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; 
The cowslip startles in meadows green, 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice. 
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace ; 
The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 

Atilt like a blossom among the leaves. 
And lets his illumined being o'er run 

With the deluge of summer it receives; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings. 
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ; 
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest : 
In the nice ear of Nature, which song is the best? 
From ''The Vision of Sir Launfal." 
251 



HEROISM 



OPPORTUNITY 

By Edward Rowland Sill 

This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream : — 
There spread a cloud of dust along a plain; 
And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged 
A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords 
Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's ban- 
ner 
Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by- 
foes. 
A craven hung along the battle's edge. 
And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel — 
That blue blade that the king's son bears, but this 
Blunt thing — !" he snapt and flung it from his hand, 
And lowering crept away and left the field. 

Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead, 
And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, 
Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand. 
And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout 
Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down, 
And saved a great cause that heroic day. 

255 



GRACE DARLING 

By James Baldwin 

It was a dark September morning. There was a 
storm at sea. A ship had been driven on a low rock 
off the shores of the Fame Islands. It had been 
broken in two by the waves, and half of it had been 
washed away. The other half lay yet on the rock, 
and those of the crew who were still alive were 
clinging to it. But the waves were dashing over it, 
and in a little while it too would be carried to the 
bottom. 

Could any one save the poor, half-drowned men 
who were there? 

On one of the islands was a lighthouse; and 
there, all through that wild night, Grace Darling 
had listened to the storm. 

Grace was the daughter of the lighthouse keeper, 
and she had lived by the sea as long as she could re- 
member. 

In the darkness of the night, above the noise of 
the winds and waves, she heard screams and wild 

256 



HEROISM 

cries. When daylight came she could see the wreck, 
a mile away, with the angry waters all aroimd it. 
She could see the men cHnging to the masts. 

"We must try to save them !" she cried. "Let us 
go out in the boat at once !" 

"It is of no use, Grace," said her father. "We 
can not reach them." 

He was an old man, and he knew the force of the 
mighty waves. 

"We can not stay here and see them die," said 
Grace. "We must at least try to save them." 

Her father could not say "no." 

In a few minutes they were ready. They set off 
in the heavy lighthouse boat. Grace pulled one oar, 
and her father the other, and they made straight 
toward the wreck. But it was hard rowing against 
such a sea, and it seemed as though they would 
never reach the place. 

At last they were close to the rock, and now they 
were in greater danger than before. The fierce 
waves broke against the boat, and it would have 
been dashed in pieces had it not been for the 
strength and skill of the brave girl. 

After many trials, Grace's father climbed upon 
the wreck, while Grace herself held the boat. Then 

^^7 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

one by one the worn-out crew were helped on board. 
It was all that the girl could do to keep the frail 
boat from floating away, or being broken upon the 
sharp edges of the rock. 

Then her father clambered back Into his place. 
Strong hands grasped the oars, and by and by all 
were safe in the lighthouse. There Grace proved 
to be no less tender as a nurse than she had been 
brave as a sailor. She kindly cared for the ship- 
wrecked men until the storm had died away and they 
were strong enough to go to their own homes. 

All this happened a long time ago, but the name 
of Grace Darhng will never be forgotten. Her 
body lies buried now in a little churchyard by the 
sea, not far from her old home. Every year many 
people go there to see her grave ; and there a monu- 
ment has been placed in honor of the brave girl. It 
is a figure carved in stone of a woman lying at rest, 
with a boat's oar held fast in her right hand. 



The words of Milton are true in all times, and 
were never truer than in this: "He who would 
write heroic poems must make his whole life a 
heroic poem." 

— Thomas Carlyle. 
258 



/A BRAVE LITTLE REBEL 

By Mary Densel 

If our heroine, Cynthia Smith, were living to-day, 
she would be a great-grandmother. But at the time 
of this story, 1 780, she was only a little girl at home 
on a plantation near the Santee River, in South 
Carolina. She was twelve years old, four feet and 
two inches high, and, for so young and so small a 
person, she was as stanch a rebel as you could have 
found in all America ; for the War of Independence 
had been raging in the United States ever since 
Cynthia could remember. 

When she was only five years old, her little heart 
had beaten fast at the story of the famous "Boston 
Tea Party," at which a whole ship-load of tea had 
been emptied into the harbor because King George 
of England insisted on "a three-penny tax." 

The following year, when England shut up the 
harbor of Boston, not a mouthful of rice did Cyn- 
thia get to eat, for her father had sent his whole 
harvest to the North, as did many another southern 

259 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

planter. Soon after that John went to Massachu- 
setts to visit Uncle Hezekiah, and the next June they 
heard that he had been shot dead at the battle of 
Bunker Hill. 

Cynthia wept hot tears on her coarse homespun 
apron; but she dried them in a sort of strange de- 
light when Tom insisted on taking John's place, and 
following a certain George Washington to the war. 

"It's 'Liberty or Death' we have marked on our 
shirts, and it's 'Liberty or Death' we have burned 
into our hearts," Tom afterward wrote home; and 
his mother wrung her hands, and his father grimly 
smiled. 

"Just wait, you two other boys," said the latter. 
"We'll have the war at our own doors before it is 
all over." 

He said this because Will and Ebenezer wished 
to follow in Tom's footsteps. Cynthia longed to 
be a boy, so that she might have a skirmish with 
the Britishers on her own account. But she had 
little time for patriotic dreams. 

There was a deal of work to be done in those 
days. Cynthia helped to weave cloth for the family 
gowns and trousers, and to spin and knit yarn for 
the family stockings. This kept her very busy. 

260 



HEROISM 

In 1776, when Cynthia was eight years old, two 
important events happened — important, at least, to 
her. One was the signing of the Declaration of In- 
dependence, which she could not quite understand; 
the other was the birth of a red and white calf in 
Mr. Smith's barn. Her heart beat fast with feel- 
ings of patriotism when she heard her father read 
from a sheet of paper which some one had given 
him, "All men are born free and equal;" but she 
went almost wild with joy when her father gave her 
the little calf to be all her own. 

Cynthia, giving free scope to her feelings, named 
the calf "Free-'n'-equal" ; and if ever an animal de- 
served such a name it was this one. It scorned all 
authority, kicked up its hind legs, and went career- 
ing round the plantation at its own sweet will. 

Free-'n'-equal was Cynthia's only playmate, for 
there were no other children within six miles of the 
Smiths. The more the calf grew, the more loving 
did the two become. Cynthia told all her secrets to 
Free-'n'-equal, and asked her advice about many an 
important undertaking. She even consulted her as 
to the number of stitches to be put on a pair of 
wristlets for Tom, who had gone with General 
.Washington to Pennsylvania. 

261 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Alas ! Tom never wore those wristlets. He was 
one of the many who died of hunger and cold in that 
awful Valley Forge. Cynthia believed that Free- 
'n'-equal understood all her sorrow when she told 
her the pitiful news. 

Quite as much did she share her joy when, a few 
months later, Cynthia came flying to the barn with 
the news that Lafayette had come from France to 
help the American cause. 

But again the joy vanished, and Cynthia sobbed 
her woe into Free-'n'-equal's sympathizing ear 
when Sir Henry Clinton captured Charleston, only 
twenty miles away. And a few months later her 
grief was beyond control. "For General Gates has 
come down to South Carolina, and father and Will 
and Ebenezer have gone to fight in his army." 

Free-'n'-equal shook her head, and uttered a long, 
low "Moo-o," which seemed plainly enough to say, 
"What's to become of the rest of us, my little mis- 
tress?" 

Cynthia brushed away her tears in a twinkling. 

"We'll take care of ourselves, that's what we'll 
do. Mother and I will attend to the rice ; and you 
must do your part, and give us more milk than ever, 
so as to keep us strong and well." 

262 



HEROISM 

Those were days of alarm along the Santee River, 
for the British soldiers were roaming all around and 
laying waste the country. But Cynthia was not 
afraid — no, not even when Lord Cornwallis came 
within three miles of the plantation. She said her 
prayers every day, and believed firmly in the guard- 
ian angels and a certain rusty gun behind the kitchen 
door. She was not afraid even when a redcoat did 
sometimes rise above the horizon like a morning 
cloud. She had no more fear of him than of the 
scarlet-breasted bird which sang above her head 
when she went into the woods near by to gather 
sticks. 

It is no wonder, then, that she was taken all aback 
when, one afternoon as she came home with a bun- 
dle of sticks, her mother met her and said : "Cyn- 
thia, they have been here and driven off Free-'n'- 
equal." 
" "They!" gasped Cynthia. "Who?" 

"The British soldiers. They tied a rope round 
her horns, and dragged her to their camp. Cynthia, 
what shall we do ?" 

Cynthia uttered a sound which was both like a 
groan and a war whoop, and darted out of the door. 
Along the dusty road she ran, on and on. Her 

263 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

yellow sunbonnet fell back on her shoulders, and 
her brown curls were covered with dust. One mile, 
two miles, three miles — on and on. At last she 
reached a small house which was Lord Cornwallis' 
headquarters. The sentinels challenged her, but 
without answering a word she marched straight past 
them. Into the house — into the parlor — she walked. 
There sat Lord Cornwallis and some six of his of- 
ficers, eating and drinking at a big table. 

One of the younger officers smiled, but he stopped 
when he saw Lord Cornwallis' eyes flashing at him. 

"And Tom went to heaven out of Valley Forge, 
where he was helping General Washington," added 
Cynthia softly. 

"Where are the other two ?" 

"In the army, Mr. Lord Cornwallis." Cynthia's 
head was erect again. 

"Rank rebels," said Cornwallis. 

"Yes, they are." 

"Hum! And you're a bit of a rebel too, I am 
thinking, if the truth were told." 

Miss Cynthia nodded with emphasis. 

"And yet you come here for your cow," said 
Cornwallis. "I have no doubt but that she is rebel 
beef herself." 

264 



HEROISM 

Cynthia paused a moment, and then said: "I 
think she would be if she had two less legs, and not 
quite so much horn. That is, she'd be a rebel; but 
maybe you wouldn't call her beef then." 

Lord Cornwallis laughed a good-natured, hearty 
laugh that made the room ring. All his officers 
laughed too. Miss Cynthia wondered what the fun 
might be ; but, in nowise abashed, she stood firm on 
her two little feet, and waited until the merriment 
should be over. At last, however, her face began 
to flush a little. What if these fine gentlemen were 
making fun of her, after all? 

Lord Cornwallis saw the red blood mount in her 
cheeks, and he stopped laughing at once. "Come 
here, my little maid," said he; "I myself will see to 
it that your cow is safe in your barn to-morrow 
morning. And perhaps," he added, taking off a 
pair of silver knee buckles which he wore, "perhaps 
you will accept these as a gift from one who wishes 
no harm to these rebels." 

Then he rose and held his wine-glass above his 
head. "Here's to the health of as fair a little rebel 
as we shall meet, and God bless her!" said he. 

She dropped her final courtesy, clasped the shin- 
ing buckles, and out of the room she vanished, sure 

265 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

in her mind that Free-'n'-equal was all her own once 
more. 

As for those buckles, they are this very day in 
the hands of one of Cynthia's descendants. For 
there was a real Cynthia, as well as a real Lord 
Cornwallis. 



ODE 

By William Collins 

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest. 
By all their country's wishes blessed ! 
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallowed mould. 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung ; 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung; 
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray. 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; 
And Freedom shall awhile repair. 
To dwell a weeping hermit there ! 
266 



PERSEVERANCE 



THE CASTLE OF FORTUNE 

Adapted by Sara Cone Bryant 

One lovely summer morning, just as the sun rose, 
two travelers started on a journey. They were both 
strong men, but one was a lazy fellow and the other 
was a worker. 

As the first sunbeams came up over the hills, 
they shone on a great castle standing on the heights, 
as far away as eye could see. It was a wonderful 
and beautiful castle, all glistening towers that 
gleamed like marble, and glancing windows that 
shone like crystal. The two young men looked at 
it eagerly, and longed to go nearer. 

Suddenly, out of the distance, something like a 
great butterfly, of white and gold, swept toward 
them. And when it came nearer, they saw that it 
was a most beautiful lady, robed in floating gar- 
ments as fine as cobwebs and wearing on her head 
a crown so bright that no one could tell whether it 

269 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

was of diamonds or of dew. She stood, light as 
air, on a great, shining, golden ball, which rolled 
along with her, swifter than the wind. As she 
passed the travelers, she turned her face to them 
and smiled. 

"Follow me !" she said. 

The lazy man sat down in the grass with a discon- 
tented sigh. "She has an easy time of it !" he said. 

But the industrious man ran after the lovely lady 
and caught the hem of her floating robe in his grasp. 
"Who are you, and whither are you going?" he 
asked. 

"I am the Fairy of Fortune," the beautiful lady 
said, "and that is my castle. You may reach it to- 
day if you will ; there is time, if you waste none. If 
you reach it before the last stroke of midnight, I will 
receive you there, and will be your friend. But if 
you come one second after midnight, it will be too 
late." 

1 When she had said this, her robe slipped from the 
traveler's hand and she was gone. 
I The industrious man hurried back to his friend, 
and told him what the fairy had said. 

"The idea!" said the lazy man, and he laughed. 
"Of course, if a body had a horse there would be 

270 



PERSEVERANCE 

some chance, but walk all that way? No, thank 
you!" 

"Then good-by," said his friend. "I am off." 
And he set out down the road toward the shining 
castle with a good, steady stride, his eyes straight 
ahead. The lazy man lay down in the soft grass, and 
looked rather wistfully at the far-away towers. "If 
I only had a good horse !" he sighed. 

Just at that moment he felt something warm 
nosing about at his shoulder, and heard a little 
whinny. He turned round and there stood a little 
horse ! It was a dainty creature, gentle-looking, and 
finely built, and it was saddled and bridled. 

"Hola!" said the lazy man. "Luck often comes 
when one isn't looking for it!" And in an instant 
he had leaped on the horse, and headed him for the 
castle of fortune. The little horse started at a fine 
pace, and in a very few minutes they overtook the 
other traveler, plodding along on foot. 

"How do you like shank's mare?" laughed the 
lazy man, as he passed his friend. 

The industrious man only nodded, and kept on 
with his steady stride, eyes straight ahead. 

The horse kept his good pace, and by noon the 
towers of the castle stood out against the sky, much 

271 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

nearer and even more beautiful. Exactly at noon, 
the horse turned aside from the road, into a shady 
grove on a hill, and stopped. 

"Wise beast," said his rider ; "haste makes waste, 
and all things are better in moderation. I'll follow 
your example and eat and rest a bit." He dis- 
mounted and sat down on the cool moss, with his 
back against a tree. He had luncheon in his trav- 
eler's pouch, and he ate it comfortably. Then he 
felt drowsy from the heat and the early morning 
ride, so he pulled his hat over his eyes, and settled 
himself for a nap. "It will go all the better for a 
little rest," he said. 

That was a sleep ! He slept like the seven sleepers, 
and he dreamed the most beautiful things you could 
imagine. At last, he dreamed that he had entered 
the castle of fortune and was being received with 
great festivities. Everything he wanted was 
brought to him, and music was played while fire- 
works were set off in his honor. 

The music was so loud that it awoke him. He 
sat up, rubbing his eyes, and behold, the fireworks 
were the very last rays of the setting sun, and the 
music was the voices of the other travelers passing 
the grove on foot ! 



PERSEVERANCE 

"Time to be off," said the lazy man, and looked 
about him for the pretty horse. No horse was to 
be found. The only living thing near was an old, 
bony, gray donkey. The man called and whistled, 
but no little horse appeared. After a long while he 
gave up, and, since there was nothing better to do, 
he mounted the old gray donkey and set out again. 

The donkey was slow, and he was hard to ride, 
but he was better than nothing; and gradually the 
lazy man saw the towers of the castle draw nearer. 

Now it began to grow dark ; in the castle windows 
the lights began to show. Then came trouble ! 
Slower and slower went the gray donkey; slower 
and slower, till in the very middle of a pitch-black 
wood he stopped and stood still. Not a step would 
he budge for all the coaxing and scolding and beat- 
ing his rider could give. At last the rider kicked 
him, as well as beat him, and at that the donkey felt 
that he had had enough. Up went his hind heels, 
and down went his head, and over it went the lazy 
man to the stony ground. 

There he lay groaning for many minutes, for it 

was not a soft place, I can assure you. How he 

wished he were in a soft, warm bed, with his aching 

bones comfortable in blankets! The very thought 

. 273 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

of It made him remember the castle of fortune, for 
he knew there must be fine beds there. To get to 
those beds he was even willing to bestir his bruised 
limbs, so he sat up and felt about him for the 
donkey. No donkey was to be found. 

The lazy man crept round and round the spot 
where he had fallen, scratched his hands on the 
stumps, tore his face in the briers, and bumped his 
knees on the stones. But no donkey was there. He 
would have lain down to sleep again, but he could 
now hear howls of hungry wolves in the woods; 
that did not sound pleasant. Finally, his hand 
struck against something that felt like a saddle. He 
grasped it, thankful, and started to mount his 
donkey. 

The beast he took hold of seemed very small, and 
as he mounted he felt that its sides were moist and 
slimy. It gave him a shudder, and he hesitated, but 
at that moment he heard a distant clock strike. It 
was striking eleven! There was still time to reach 
the castle of fortune, but no more than enough ; so 
he mounted his new steed and rode on once more. 
The animal was easier to sit on than the donkey, 
and the saddle seemed remarkably high behind; it 
was good to lean against. But even the donkey was 

274 



PERSEVERANCE 

not so slow as this. After a while, however, he 
pushed his way out of the woods into the open, and 
there stood the castle, only a little way ahead ! All 
its windows were ablaze with lights. A ray from 
them fell on the lazy man's beast, and he saw what 
he was riding; it was a gigantic snail! a snail as 
large as a calf. 

A cold shudder ran over the lazy man's body, and 
he would have got off his horrid animal then and 
there, but just then the clock struck once more. It 
was the first of the long, slow strokes that mark 
midnight ! The man grew frantic when he heard it. 
He drove his heels into the snail's sides to make 
him hurry. Instantly the snail drew in his head, 
curled up in his shell, and left the lazy man sitting 
in a heap on the ground ! 

The clock struck twice. If the man had run for it 
he could still have reached the castle, but instead, 
he sat still and shouted for a horse, 

"A beast, a beast !" he wailed, "any kind of beast 
to take me to the castle !" 

The clock struck three times. And as it struck 
the third note, something came rustling and rattling 
out of the darkness, something that sounded like 
a horse with harness. The lazy man jumped on its 

275 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

back; a very queer, low back. As he mounted, he 
saw the doors of the castle open, and his friend 
standing on the threshold, waving his cap and beck- 
oning to him. 

The clock struck four times, and the new steed 
began to stir ; as it struck five he moved a pace for- 
ward ; as it struck six he stopped ; as it struck seven 
he turned himself about ; as it struck eight he began 
to move backward, away from the castle ! 

The lazy man shouted, and beat him, but the beast 
moved slowly backward. And the clock struck nine. 
The man tried to slide off then, but from all sides 
of his strange animal great arms came reaching up 
and held him fast. And in the next ray of moon- 
light that broke the dark clouds he saw that he was 
mounted on a monster crab ! 

One by one, the lights went out in the castle win- 
dows. The clock struck ten. Backward went the 
crab. Eleven. Still the crab went backward. The 
clock struck twelve ! Then the great door shut with 
a clang, and the castle of fortune was closed for ever 
to the lazy man. 

What became of him and his crab no one knows 
to this day, and no one cares. But the industrious 
man was received by the Fairy of Fortune and made 

2'j6 



PERSEVERANCE 

happy in the castle as long as he wanted to stay. 
And ever afterward she was his friend, helping him 
not only to happiness for himself, but also showing 
him how to help others, wherever he went. 

— From the German. 



THE TREE 

By Bjornstjerne Bjornson 

The Tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their 

brown : 
"Shall I take them away ?" said the Frost, sweeping 
down. 
"No, leave them alone 
Till the blossoms have grown," 
Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to 
crown. 

The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung : 
"Shall I take them away?" said the Wind as he 
swung. 
"No, leave them alone 
Till the berries have grown," 
Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung. 

277 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

The Tree bore his fruit in the midsummer glow : 
Said the girl, "May I gather thy berries now ?" 

"Yes, all thou canst see ; 

Take them : all are for thee," 
Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs 
low. 

THE CROW AND THE PITCHER 

By ^sop 

A crow that was very thirsty flew to a pitcher, 
hoping to find some water in it. Water there was, 
but so little of it, that with all her efforts, the poor 
crow could not so much as wet the tip of her bill. 

"Never despair," said the crow to herself; "where 
there's a will there's a way !" A bright thought came 
into her little black head : she could not get down to 
the water, but she might make the water rise to her. 

The crow picked up a pebble and dropped it into 
the pitcher; another and another. All sank to the 
bottom, and the water rose in the jar. Before the 
crow had dropped ten pebbles, her industry was re- 
warded, and she drank at her ease of the water, 
which, but for her bright thought and perseverance, 
she would never have been able to reach. 

278 



BRUCE AND THE SPIDER 

By James Baldwin 

There was once a king of Scotland whose name 
was Robert Bruce. He had need to be both brave 
and wise, for the times in which he lived were wild 
and rude. The king of England was at war with 
him, and had led a great army into Scotland to drive 
him out of the land. 

Battle after battle had been fought. Six times 
had Bruce led his brave little army against his foes; 
and six times had his men been beaten, and driven 
into flight. At last his army was scattered, and he 
was forced to hide himself in the woods and in 
lonely places among the mountains. 

One rainy day, Bruce lay on the ground under a 
rude shed, listening to the patter of the drops on 
the roof above him. He was tired and sick at heart, 
and ready to give up. It seemed to him that there 
was no use for him to try to do anything more. 

As he lay thinking, he saw a spider over his head, 
making ready to weave her web. He watched her 
as she toiled slowly and with great care. Six times 

279 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

she tried to throw her frail thread from one beam 
to another, and six times it fell short. 

"Poor thing !" said Bruce : "You, too, know what 
it is to fail." 

But the spider did not lose hope with the sixth 
failure. With still more care, she made ready to 
try for the seventh time. Bruce almost forgot his 
own troubles as he watched her swing herself out 
on the slender line. Would she fail, again? No! 
The thread was carried safely to the beam, and fas- 
tened there. 

"1, too, will try a seventh time !" cried Bruce. 

He arose and called his men together. He told 
them of his plans, and sent them out with messages 
of cheer to his disheartened people. Soon there was 
an army of brave Scotchmen around him. Another 
battle was fought, and the king of England was glad 
to go back into his own country. 

I have heard it said that, after that day, no one 
by the name of Bruce would ever hurt a spider. The 
lesson which the little creature had taught the king 
was never forgotten. 



"Will try" has done wonders, but "can not" has 
never accomplished anything at all. 

— Old Saying. 
280 



THAT'S HOW 

It was a bitterly cold day. There had been a great 
snow-storm, and the sky had a black and ugly look. 

"Dear me," said Mrs. Wilson, as she looked out 
of the window. "See how the snow has drifted into 
the yard! Ann can not get out to the wood-house 
for her kindlings. Those poor hens, too, have not 
been fed since yesterday morning. What shall we 
do, without anybody to dig a path?" 

"I can shovel a path, grandmother," said Johnny, 
a bright boy about eight years old. 

"It is too hard work for you, I fear," said Mrs. 
Wilson, "and besides, we have nothing but this coal- 
sifter to shovel with." 

"No matter," said Johnny ; "I can try." 

So Johnny put on his hat, tied his tippet round 
his neck, turned up his trousers, and went to work 
with a will. 

He was digging away like a good fellow when a 
man came lounging along. Instead of lending 
Johnny a helping hand or saying a kind word to 
him, he called out in a sneering tone, "Boy, how do 
you expect to get through that snow-drift?" 

281 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

"By keeping at it, — that's how!" answered 
Johnny, as he tossed the snow out of his little 
shovel. 

Then, without wasting any more time in words, 
he turned straight to his path again. It was hard 
work. He was soon very tired, and his hands were 
cold, but he kept at it bravely until he had dug a 
good path. 

I think he got a piece of pie when he went back 
into the house; and a kiss from his kind grand- 
mother, as she gave it to him, made it taste all the 
better. 



282 



PATRIOTISM 



O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 

By Walt Whitman 

On the assassination of President Lincoln, at the 
close of the Civil War 

O Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done ; 
The ship has weather'd every rock, the prize we 

sought is won ; 
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all ex- 
ulting. 
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim 
and daring : 

But O heart ! heart ! heart 1 

O, the bleeding drops of red, 
Where on the deck my Captain lies. 
Fallen cold and dead. 

O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ; 
Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the 

bugle trills ; 
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths— for you 

the shores a-crowding; 
285 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager 
faces turning ; 

Here Captain ! dear father ! 

This arm beneath your head ! 

It is some dream that on the deck 

You've fallen cold and dead. 

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and 

still ; 
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor 

will; 
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage 

closed and done ; 
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with ob- 
ject won: 

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells ! 

But I, with mournful tread. 
Walk the deck my Captain lies 
Fallen cold and dead. 



Then none was for a party, 

Then all were for the state; 
Then the great man helped the poor. 
And the poor man loved the great. 
— William Makepeace Thackeray. 
286 



CONCORD HYMN 

By Ralph Waldo Emerson 

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 

Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 

The foe long since in silence slept ; 

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps ; 
And time the ruined bridge has swept 

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 

On the green bank, by this soft stream. 

We set to-day a votive stone ; 
That memory may their dead redeem, 

When, like our sires, our sons are gone. 

Spirit, that made those heroes dare 
To die, and leave their children free. 

Bid time and nature gently spare 
The shaft we raise to them and thee. 
287 



SONG FOR DECORATION DAY 

By Helen C. Bacon 

Bring forth the flowers, 
Sweet fragrant flowers, 
Born in the sunshine and sparkHng with dew; 

Here while we sing, 

Gladly we bring 
Offerings meet for the brave and the true. 
Daisies and buttercups, roses and lilies fair, 

Dainty forget-me-nots, violets blue. 
Bring forth the flowers, sweet fragrant flowers, 
Offerings sweet for the brave and the true. 

Heap high the flowers. 
Sweet-scented flowers. 

Bright garlands strew o'er their graves everywhere ; 
While just above, 
The flag that we love 
Still floats its stars and stripes on the air. 
Flag of our Union, brave soldiers defend thee. 
Lay down their lives for thy color so fair, 
288 



PATRIOTISM 

Heap high the flowers, sweet-scented flowers, 

Bright garlands strew o'er their graves every- 
where. 



AMERICA 

By Samuel Francis Smith 

My country, 'tis of thee. 
Sweet land of liberty, 

Of thee I sing;l 
Land where my fathers died. 
Land of the pilgrims' pride. 
From every mountain-side. 

Let freedom ring! 

My native country, thee, 
Land of the noble free. 

Thy name I love ; 
I love thy rocks and rills, 
Thy woods and templed hills ; 
My heart with rapture thrills. 

Like that above. 
289 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Let music swell the breeze. 
And ring from all the trees 

Sweet freedom's song; 
Let mortal tongues awake, 
Let all that breathe partake. 
Let rocks their silence break. 

The sound prolong. 

Our fathers' God, to Thee, 
Author of liberty, 

To Thee we sing; 
Long may our land be bright 
With freedom's holy light. 
Protect us by Thy might. 

Great God, our King! 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 

By Francis M. Finch 

By the flow of the inland river. 
Whence the fleets of iron have fled. 

Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver. 
Asleep are the ranks of the dead ; 
290 



PATRIOTISM 

Under the sod and the dew, 
Waiting the judgment day; 

Under the one, the Blue, 
Under the other, the Gray. 

These in the robings of glory, 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 
All with the battle-blood gory, 
In the dusk of eternity meet ; 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the laurel, the Blue, 
Under the willow, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go. 
Lovingly laden with flowers 

Alike for the friend and the foe ; 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the roses, the Blue, 
Under the lilies, the Gray. 

So with an equal splendor 
The morning sun rays fall, 
291 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

With a touch impartially tender, 
On the blossoms blooming for all ; 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Broidered with gold, the Blue, 
Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth, 

On forest and field of grain. 
With an equal murmur falleth 
The cooling drip of the rain ; 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Wet with the rain, the Blue, 
Wet with the rain, the Gray. 

Sadly, but not with upbraiding. 
The generous deed was done. 
In the storm of the years that are fading, 
No braver battle was won ; 
Under the sod and the dew. 

Waiting the judgment day; 
Under the blossoms, the Blue, 
Under the garlands, the Gray. 
292 



PATRIOTISM 

No more shall the war-cry sever, 

Or the winding rivers be red ; 
They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Love and tears for the Blue, 
Tears and love for the Gray. 



Of course, what we have a right to expect of the 
American boy is that he shall turn out to be a good 
American man. Now, the chances are strong that 
he won't be much of a man unless he is a good 
deal of a boy. He must not be a coward or a weak- 
ling, a bully, a shirk or a prig. He must work hard 
and play hard. He must be clean-minded and clean- 
lived, and able to hold his own under all circum- 
stances and against all comers. It is only on these 
conditions that he will grow into the kind of man 
of whom America can really be proud. In life as in 
a foot-ball game the principle to follow is : Hit the 
line hard ; don't foul and don't shirk, but hit the line 
hard. 

— Theodore Roosevelt. 
293 



BARBARA FRIETCHIE 

By John Greenleaf Whittier 

Up from the meadows rich with corn. 
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about them orchards sweep, 
Apple and peach tree fruited deep. 

Fair as the garden of the Lord 

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde. 

On that pleasant morn of the early fall 
When Lee marched over the mountain wall,- 

Over the mountains winding down, 
Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars. 
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 
294 



PATRIOTISM 

Flapped in the morning wind : the sun 
Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten ; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town, 

She took up the flag the men hauled down ; 

In her attic window the staff she set. 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread, 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right 
He glanced : the old flag met his sight. 

*'Halt !" — ^the dust-brown ranks stood fast. 
"Fire !" — out blazed the rifle blast. 

It shivered the window, pane and sash ; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. 
295 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

She leaned far out on the window sill, 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head. 
But spare your country's flag," she said. 

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame. 
Over the face of the leader came ; 

The nobler nature within him stirred 
To life at that woman's deed and word : 

"Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
Dies like a dog ! March on !" he said. 

All day long through Frederick street 
Sounded the tread of marching feet : 

All day long that free flag tost 
Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell 
On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 

And through the hill gaps sunset light 
Shone over it with a warm good night. 
296 



PATRIOTISM 

Barbara Frletchie's work is o'er, 

And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. 

Honor to her ! and let a tear 

Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave. 
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! 

Peace and order and beauty draw 
Round thy symbol of light and law; 

And ever the stars above look down 
On thy stars below in Frederick town ! 



Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said. 
This is my own, my native land? 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned 
From wandering on a foreign strand ? 

— ^'^V Walter Scott. 



One flag, one land, one heart, one hand, 
One nation, evermore ! 

— Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
297 



BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 

By Julia Ward Howe 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the 

Lord; 
He is trampHng out the vintage where the grapes of 

wrath are stored ; 
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible 

swift sword, 

His truth is marching on. 

I have seen Him in the watchfires of a hundred 

circling camps; 
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews 

and damps ; 
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and 

flaring lamps, 

His day is marching on. 

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows 

of steel ; 
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my 

grace shall deal ; 

298 



PATRIOTISM 

Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with 
his heel," 

Since God is marching on. 

He has sounded forth the tmmpet that shall never 
call retreat; 

He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judg- 
ment seat ; 

Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, 
my feet! 

Our God is marching on. 

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the 

sea. 
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and 

me; 
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make 

men free. 

While God is marching on. 



Glory! glory 
Glory! glory 
Glory! glory 



Hallelujah! 
Hallelujah! 
Hallelujah! 



His truth is marching on. 
299 



COURAGE 



WILLIAM TELL 

By James Baldwin 

The people of Switzerland were not always free 
and happy as they are to-day. Many years ago a 
proud tyrant whose name was Gessler ruled over 
them, and made their lot a bitter one indeed. 

One day this tyrant set up a tall pole in the public 
square, and put his own cap on the top of it; and 
then he gave orders that every man who came into 
the town should bow down before it. But there 
was one man, named William Tell, who would not 
do this. He stood up straight with folded arms, and 
laughed at the swinging cap. He would not bow 
down to Gessler himself. 

When Gessler heard of this he was very angry. 
He was afraid that other men would disobey, and 
that soon the whole country would rebel against 
him. So he made up his mind to punish the bold 
man. 

303 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

William Tell's home was among the mountains, 
and he was a famous hunter. No one in all the land 
could shoot with bow and arrow so well as he. 
Gessler knew this, and so he thought of a cruel plan 
to make the hunter's own skill bring him to grief. 
He ordered that Tell's little boy should be made to 
stand up in the public square with an apple on his 
head; and then he bade Tell shoot the apple with 
one of his arrows. 

Tell begged the tyrant not to have him make this 
test of his skill. What if the boy should move? 
What if the bowman's hand should tremble? What 
if the arrow should not carry true? 

"Will you make me kill my boy ?" he said. 

"Say no more," said Gessler. "You must hit the 
apple with your one arrow. If you fail, my soldiers 
shall kill the boy before your eyes." 

Without another word, Tell fitted the arrow to 
his bow. He took aim and let it fly. The boy stood 
firm and still. He was not afraid, for he had all 
faith in his father's skill. 

The arrow whistled through the air. It struck the 
apple fairly in the center, and carried it away. The 
people who saw it shouted for joy at the victory of 
courage and skill. 

304 



COURAGE 

As Tell was turning away from the place, an 
arrow which he had hidden under his coat dropped 
to the ground. 

"Fellow!" cried Gessler, "what mean you with 
this second arrow?" 

"Tyrant!" was Tell's proud answer, "this arrow 
was for your heart if I had hurt my child." 

And there is an old story that not long after this, 
Tell did shoot the tyrant with one of his arrows; 
thus he set his country free. 



CHRYSANTHEMUMS 

[Authorship Unknown] 

The bleak, chill wind of November 
Blows over the garden beds ; 

In the bitter and frosty weather 
The asters hang their heads. 

Where the flame of the salvia brightened 

The walks a month ago. 
Dead leaves hang black and withered. 

Or litter the earth below. 
305 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Even the brave little pansy 

Hides under the leaves that fall, 

And not one flower of the summer 
Answers the robin's call. 

But lo ! in the corner yonder 

There's a gleam of white and gold. 

The gold of summer's sunshine, 
The white of winter's cold. 

And laden with spicy odors, 

The autumn breezes come 
From the nooks and corners brightened 

By the brave chrysanthemum. 

Hail to thee ! beautiful flowers, 
With royal and dauntless mien, 

Facing the frosts of winter — 
I crown thee Autumn's queen. 

With your gleam of late sweet sunshine. 
You brighten the closing year 

And keep us thinking of summer 
Till the winter we dread is here. 
306 



COURAGE 

Brave, beautiful, steadfast flowers. 
You come with a message to all, 

Smile in life's bitterest weather 
And brighten its lonesome fall. 

Carry some beauty of summer 
In the heart till the season's past 

And let the dread winter that cometh. 
Find a flower in the soul at last. 



FAITHFUL 

One day a farmer, who had a fine, large field of 
wheat just sprouting, stood looking over his farm 
when he noticed three men on horseback come gal- 
loping up the road. Fearing that these men might 
enter the gate which stood open and cross the field 
to the woods beyond — this being the nearest way — 
and in so doing spoil the young grain, he sent his 
farm-hand to close the gate. 

The boy had just fastened the lock when the men 
reached the spot and asked to be permitted to cross 
the field. The boy explained that the owner of the 
farm was anxious that his crops should be protected 

307 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

/ 

and he would not allow the gate to be opened. 
One man offered a piece of money, but this the 
boy declined to take, saying that the farmer paid 
him for his work and he would obey him. Another 
man frowned and used harsh words, but this did not 
frighten the boy. Then the third, a fine looking 
gentleman, in a commanding voice ordered him to 
open the gate. The boy, with firm determination, 
still refused. 

Stepping forward the gentleman declared him- 
self to be the Duke of Wellington. The boy, lifting 
his hat, said, "I know that you, the Duke of Wel- 
lington, would wish me to obey orders. The farmer 
who employs me trusts me to take charge of this 
gate." 

With a look of admiration the Duke took the 
boy's hand and, lifting his own hat said, "I honor 
you, my boy, for being brave enough to stand your 
ground." 



He either fears his fate too much, 

Or his deserts are small. 
That dares not put it to the touch. 
To gain or lose it all. 

— The Marquis of Montrose. 
308 



LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS 

By Felicia Dorothea Hemans 

The breaking waves dashed high 
On a stern and rock-bound coast, 

And the woods against a stormy sky 
Their giant branches tossed. 

And the heavy night hung dark 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moored their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, came ; 
Not with the roll of stirring drums, 

And the trumpet that sings of fame ; 

Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear; 
They shook the depths of the desert's gloom 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 
309 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Amidst the storm they sang, 

And the stars heard, and the sea ; 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 
To the anthem of the free. 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam, 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared — 

This was their welcome home. 

There were men with hoary hair 

Amidst that pilgrim band ; 
Why had they come to wither there. 

Away from their childhood's land ? 

There was woman's fearless eye. 

Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
There was manhood's brow serenely high. 

And the fiery heart of youth. 

What sought they thus afar? 

Bright jewels of the mine? 
The wealth of seas? the spoils of war? — 

They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 
310 



' COURAGE 

Ay, call it holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod; 

They have left unstained what there they found- 
Freedom to worship God ! 



311 



DUTY 



THE BROKEN FLOWER-POT 

By Bulwer Lytton 

Mr. Caxton was seated on the lawn before the 
house, his straw hat over his eyes (it was summer) 
and his book on his lap. Suddenly a beautiful 
flower-pot which had been set on the window-sill 
fell to the ground with a crash. 

"Dear, dear!" cried Mrs. Caxton, who was at 
work on the porch, "my poor flower-pot that I 
prized so much ! Who could have done this ?" 

"It was I who pushed off the flower-pot, mother," 
said her small son. 

"Well," returned Mrs. Caxton, "I suppose it was 
an accident." 

"No, mother, I pushed off the flower-pot on pur- 
pose." 

"And why?" exclaimed his father, walking up. 

"For fun," the boy replied, hanging his head. 
"Just to see how you'd look, father. Now punish 
me, do punish me." 

315 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

The father put his book down. "Boy, you have 
done wrong, but I thank God for giving me a son 
who speaks the truth." 

Not long after this a friend gave to the boy a 
beautiful, carved, ivory box of dominoes. This was 
a delight. The boy was never weary of playing at 
dominoes and slept with the box under his pillow. 

"Ah," remarked his father one day, "you like that 
better than all your other playthings." 

"Oh, yes, father." 

"You would be sorry if your mother were to 
throw that box out of the window and break it for 
fun." 

The boy looked at his father, but made no an- 
swer. 

"But perhaps you would be very glad," argued 
the father, "if some fairy could change the box into 
a beautiful flower-pot and you could have the pleas- 
ure of putting it on your mother's window-sill." 

"Yes, indeed, I would," admitted the boy. Then 
he could play at dominoes no more that day. 

The next day his father announced : "I am going 
to walk to town. Will you come too? And bring 
your domino box. I should like to show it to a per- 
son there." 

316 



DUTY 

"Father," commented the boy on the way, "there 
are no fairies." 

"My dear," corrected his father, "everybody who 
is in earnest to be good has two fairies within him 
all the time, one here" (and he touched the boy's 
heart) "and one here" (and he touched his fore- 
head). 

"I don't understand, father." 

"I can wait till you do, my son." 

After visiting a greenhouse the father stopped at 
a china store and while there priced a flower-pot 
precisely like the one which was broken. The boy's 
heart was filled with joy. 

The father went to pay some bills at a little shop 
and after settling with the man, said to him: "My 
son has a beautiful box here which I wish you would 
look at and tell us the value of." 

The boy showed his treasure, which the shop man 
admired and put a price on. 

Then the father remarked to his son : "My dear, 
if you ever wish to sell this box you have my permis- 
sion to do so." 

After the father went out the boy lingered behind 
a moment and then joined him at the end of the 
street. 

317 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

"Father, father," he called, clapping his hands, 
"we can buy the flower-pot." And he pulled the 
money from his pocket. 

"You have found the two fairies. How proud I 
am of you, my son !" 

The boy was overjoyed when, after placing the 
flower-pot on the window-sill, he called his mother. 

"Good actions have mended the bad," said the 
father. 

"Shall we buy back the domino box?" asked the 
mother. 

"Oh, no," replied the boy, "that would spoil all." 
— Adapted from "The Caxtons." 



So nigh is grandeur to our dust. 

So near is God to man, 
.When Duty whispers low. Thou must. 

The youth replies, I can. 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson. 



I have a work to do ; 

A work I must not shun ; 
One way will I pursue 

Until my journey's done. 
What others do I may not ask ; 
Enough for me to know my task. 
318 



FORETHOUGHT 



THE ORCHARD 

A man who wanted to have a beautiful orchard 
sent for some young trees which he hoped to plant 
himself. Just as the trees were delivered at his door 
he received word that some important business 
awaited his attention in the city. 

Knowing that the trees would die if not planted 
soon he felt somewhat disturbed. On his way to the 
train he met a gardener who lived in the neighbor- 
hood. After making arrangements with him to 
plant the trees the man proceeded to the city, where 
he remained for several days. 

The gardener worked hard during these days. 
He dug holes deep and wide, planted the trees with 
the utmost care, being sure that the tender rootlets 
were not broken. After filling the holes with soft 
rich earth from the woods, he brought water from a 
well at some distance and moistened it all. This 
took much time, but the trees were firm and straight. 

On his return from the city the owner of the trees 
was much displeased to find so few of them planted. 

321 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Dismissing the gardener, he finished tHe worK him- 
self in a much shorter time, but with less care. 

The trees last planted lived but a short time anH 
were never strong. The few that were planted by 
the gardener held their heads up with pride and grew 
and bore delicious fruit, all because the gardener 
had done his work with careful thought. 



WHAT IS THE REASON? 

"Papa," said Katy, sitting on her father's knee, 
"what is the reason that some days are so lucky and 
other days are so unlucky? To-day began all wrong, 
and everything that has happened to-day has been 
wrong; while on other days I begin right, and all 
goes right all day. 

"If Aunt Anna had not kept me in the morning, 
I should not have been marked at school, and then I 
should not have been cross, and I should not have 
had so many disagreeable things the rest of the 
time." 

"But what did Aunt Anna keep you for, child?" 

"To sew on the string of my hat, papa." 

"How did it happen to be off?" 
322 



FORETHOUGHT 

"Well," said Katy slowly, "that, I suppose, was 
my fault; for it came off Tuesday, and I didn't 
fasten it on." 

"So, you see, we must go back of Aunt Anna for 
the beginning of this unlucky day of yours. Did 
you ever hear the old saying, 'For the want of a 
nail, the shoe was lost?' " 

"Tell me," cried Katy, who liked stories very 
much. So her father repeated : 

"For the want of a nail, the shoe was lost ; 
For the want of a shoe, the horse was lost ; 
For the want of a horse, the rider was lost ; 
For the want of the rider, the battle was lost ; 
For the want of the battle, the kingdom was lost — 
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail." 

"O papa!" cried the little girl, "I see what you 
mean. Who would have thought that such a little 
thing as not sewing on my string at the right time 
could make a difference for a whole day? When- 
ever I feel like neglecting little things, I will say, 
'For the want of a nail, the shoe was lost.' " 



323 



SELF-CONTROL 



SELF-CONTROL 

He that hath no rule over his own spirit is Hke 
a city that is broken down and without walls. — The 
Bible. 

I will go in the strength of the Lord.^ — The Bible. 

Ye are the temple of the living God. — The Bible. 

To thine own self be true, 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou canst not then be false to any man. 

— William Shakespeare. 

Self -reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, 
These three alone lead life to sovereign power. 
— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 

Keep thy tongue from evil, and thy lips from 
speaking guile. — The Bible. 

My strength is as the strength of ten. 
Because my heart is pure. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 
327 



HARMONY 



HARMONY 

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be 
called the children of God. — The Bible. 

With an eye made quiet by the power 
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, 
We see into the life of things. 

■ — William Wordsworth. 

Ah ! when shall all men's good 
Be each man's rule, and universal peace 
Lie like a shaft of light across the land? 
— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 

Not only to keep down the base in man. 
But teach high thoughts and amiable words, 
And courtliness and love of truth. 

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 

Have goodwill 
To all that lives, letting unkindness die, 
And greed and wrath, so that your lives be made 
Like soft airs passing by. — Sir Edwin Arnold. 

Who means to help must still support the load. 
'■ — Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 



AMBITION, 



THE STORY OF A PRINTER 

Benjamin was about nineteen years old when he 
left his home in America. On reaching London he 
started in search of work. 

Some young men say they are "willing to do any- 
thing" because they know how to do nothing; but 
Benjamin, being eager to attain real success, had 
learned to work. As he had some skill as a printer 
he applied at a printing office, asking permission of 
the foreman to be allowed to prove what he could 
do. 

He rapidly and correctly set up a chapter from 
the Bible. Seeing his diligence and skill the fore- 
man supplied him with work till Benjamin had saved 
quite a sum of money and wished to return to Am- 
erica. 

Later this young American became a publisher, 
then postmaster-general, and, after holding several 
high offices, went as ambassador to more than one 
royal court. After years full of honor, nobly 

335 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

earned, he signed to our Declaration of Independ- 
ence, the name of Benjamin Franklin. 

At the age of eighty-four he died in Philadelphia. 
To-day he is held in high regard by all who know of 
his life of strong effort. 



KING ALFRED 

The boy of whom I am going to tell you lived 
many years ago. He was an English prince, for 
his father was king of England. 

Prince Alfred — for it is he whom my story is 
about — was a bright boy who loved to learn. In 
those days few people knew how to read. 

This was long before printing-presses were in- 
vented, and the few books that were made were 
printed by hand. Of course, this took a great deal 
of time and made books scarce and expensive. 

Alfred's mother was fond of reading, and one 
day while she was interested in a book in which the 
letters had been made with a pen and were of bright 
colors, Alfred and his brother were attracted by it. 
Each wanted it for his own. 

The good mother promised that the boy who first 
336 



AMBITION 

learned tO' read should have the book as a prize. 
Alfred went in search of some one who would teach 
him and he was so eager to learn that he soon earned 
the book. 

He grew to be a wise and good man, and when he 
became king the people of England loved and hon- 
ored, him so much that he has always been called 
Alfred the Great. 

The people now living in the country he served 
well long ago appreciate his wisdom so much that 
they have erected a monument to him. 



337 



CHRISTMAS 



CHRISTMAS BELLS 

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

1864 

I heard the bells on Christmas day 
Their old, familiar carols play, 

And wild and sweet 

The words repeat 
Of peace on earth, good will to men! 

And thought how, as the day had come. 
The belfries of all Christendom 

Had rolled along 

The unbroken song 
Of peace on earth, good will to men! 

Till, ringing, singing on its way. 

The world revolved from night to day, 

A voice, a chime, 

A chant sublime 
Of peace on earth, good will to men! 
341 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep ; 
*God is not dead ; nor doth He sleep ! 

The Wrong shall fail, 

The Right prevail, 
With peace on earth, good will to men." 



THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL 

By Hans Christian Andersen 

It was very cold, the snow fell, and it was almost 
dark; for it was evening — yes, the last evening of 
the year. Amid the cold and the darkness a poor lit- 
tle girl, with bare head and naked feet, was roaming 
through the streets. 

It is true she had a pair of slippers when she left 
home, but they were not of much use. They were 
very large slippers ; so large, indeed, that they had 
been used by her mother; besides, she lost them as 
she hurried across the street to avoid two carriages 
that were driving very quickly past. 

So she went along, with her little bare feet that 
were red and blue with cold. She carried a number 
of matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of 

342 



CHRISTMAS 

them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything 
from her the whole livelong day; nobody had even 
given her a penny. 

Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along, a 
perfect picture of misery — poor little thing! The 
snowflakes covered her long flaxen hair, which hung 
in pretty curls round her throat ; but she heeded them 
not now. Lights were streaming from all the win- 
dows, and there was a savory smell of roast goose — 
for it was New Year's eve — and this she did heed. 

She now sat down, cowering in a corner formed 
by two houses, one of which projected beyond the 
other. She had drawn her little feet under her, but 
she felt colder than ever; yet she dared not return 
home, for she had not sold a match, and could not 
bring home a penny ! She would certainly be beaten 
by her father; and it was cold enough at home, be- 
sides — for they had only the roof above them, and 
the wind came howling through it. 

Her little hands were nearly frozen with cold. 
Alas ! a single match might do her some good, if she 
might only draw one out of the bundle, and rub it 
against the wall, and warm her fingers. So at last 
she drew one out. Ah ! how it shed sparks, and how 
it burned! It gave out a warm, bright flame, like a 

343 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

little candle, as she held her hands over it — truly it 
was a wonderful little light. 

It really seemed to the little girl as if she were sit- 
ting before a large iron stove, with polished brass 
feet, and brass shovel and tongs. The fire burned 
so brightly, and warmed so nicely, that the little crea- 
ture stretched out her feet to warm them likewise, 
when lo ! the flame expired, the stove vanished, and 
left nothing but the little half-burned match in her 
hand. 

She rubbed another match against the wall. It 
gave a light, and where it shone upon the wall the 
latter became as transparent as a veil, and she could 
see into the room., A snow-white tablecloth was 
spread upon the table, on which stood a splendid 
china dinner service, while a roast goose, stuffed 
with apples and prunes, sent forth the most savory 
odors. 

And what was more delightful still to see, the 
goose jumped down from the dish and waddled 
along the ground with a knife and fork in its breast, 
up to the poor girl. The match then went out, and 
nothing remained but the thick, damp wall. 

She lighted yet another match. She now sat under 
the most magnificent Christmas tree, that was larger, 

344 



CHRISTMAS 

and more superbly decked, than even the one she had 
seen through the glass door at the rich merchant's. 
A thousand tapers burned on its green branches, and 
gay pictures, such as one sees on shields, seemed to 
be looking down upon her. 

She stretched out her hands, but the match then 
went out. The Christmas lights kept rising higher 
and higher. They now looked like stars in the sky. 
One of them fell down and left a long streak of fire. 
"Somebody is now dying," thought the little girl — 
for her old grandmother, the only person who had 
ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her 
that when a star falls it is a sign that a soul is going 
up to heaven. 

She again rubbed a match upon the wall, and it 
was again light all around; and in the brightness 
stood her old grandmother, clear and shining like a 
spirit, yet looking so mild and divine. "Grand- 
mother," cried the little one, "oh, take me with you ! 
I know you will go away when the match goes out — 
you will vanish like the warm stove, and the delicious 
roast goose, and the fine, large Christmas tree." And 
she made haste to rub the whole bundle of matches, 
for she wished to hold her grandmother fast. 

And the matches gave a light that was brighter 
345 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

than noonday. Her grandmother had never appeared 
so beautiful, nor so large. She took the little girl in 
her arms, and both flew upward, all radiant and joy- 
ful, far, far above mortal ken, where there was nei- 
ther cold, nor hunger, nor care to be found ; where 
there was no rain, no snow, or stormy wind, but 
calm, sunny days the whole year round. 

But, in the cold dawn, the poor girl might be seen 
leaning against the wall, with red cheeks and smil- 
ing mouth ; she had been frozen on the last night of 
the old year. 

The new year's sun shone upon the little dead girl. 
She sat still holding the matches, one bundle of 
which was burned. 

People said: *'She tried to warm herself." No- 
body dreamed of the fine things she had seen, nor in 
what splendor she had entered, along with her 
grandmother, upon the joys of the new year. 



'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale, 
'Twas Christmas told the mightiest tale; 
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
The poor man's heart through half the year. 

— Sir Walter Scott. 
346 



CHRISTMAS BELLS 

By George Cooper 

*'Are you waking?" shout the breezes 

To the tree-tops waving high, 
"Don't you hear the happy tidings 

Whispered to the earth and sky ? 
Have you caught them in your dreaming, 

Brook and rill in snowy dells ? 
Do you know the joy we bring you 
In the merry Christmas bells? 
Ding, dong ! ding, dong, Christmas bells ! 

"Are you waking, flowers that slumber 

In the deep and frosty ground? 
Do you hear what we are breathing 

To the listening world around? 
For we bear the sweetest story 

That the glad year ever tells : 
How He loved the little children, — 

He who brought the Christmas bells ! 

Ding, dong! ding, dong, Christmas bells!" 
347 



CHRISTMAS GIFTS 

By May Armstrong 

"Mother," said Jack, "may I have some money to 
buy Christmas presents with ?" 

"Dear," said his mother, "I have no money. We 
are very poor, and I can hardly buy enough food for 
us all." 

Jack hung his head; if he had not been ten the 
tears would have come to his eyes, but he was ten. 

"All the other boys give presents !" he said. 

"So shall you!" said his mother. "All presents 
are not bought with money. The best boy that ever 
lived was as poor as we are, and yet He was always 
giving." 

"Who was He?" asked Jack; "and what did He 
give?" 

"This is His birthday," said the mother. "He 
was the good Jesus. He was born in a stable, and 
He lived in a poor working-man's house. He never 
had a penny of His own, yet He gave twelve good 
gifts every day. Would you like to try His way?" 

"Yes !" cried Jack, 

348 



CHRISTMAS 

So his mother told him this and that; and soon 
after Jack started out, dressed in his best suit, to 
give his presents. 

First, he went to Aunt Jane's house. She was old 
and lame and she did not like boys. 

"What do you want ?" she asked. 

"Merry Christmas!" said Jack. "May I stay for 
an hour and help you ?" 

"Humph!" said Aunt Jane. "Want to keep you 
out of mischief, do they? Well! you may bring in 
some wood." 

"Shall I split some kindling, too?" asked Jack. 

"If you know how!" said Aunt Jane. "I can't 
have you cutting your foot and messing my clean 
shed all up." 

Jack found some fresh pine wood and a bright 
hatchet, and he split up a great pile of kindling and 
thought it fun. He stacked it neatly, and then 
brought in a pail of fresh water and filled the ket- 
tle. 

"What else can I do?" he asked. "There are 
twenty minutes more." 

"Humph !" said Aunt Jane. "You might feed the 
pig-" 

349 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

Jack fed the pig, who thanked him in his own 
way. 

"Ten minutes more!" he said. "What shall I do 
now?" I 

"Humph !" said Aunt Jane. "You may sit down 
and tell me why you came." 

"It is a Christmas present !" said Jack. *T am giv- 
ing hours for presents. I had twelve, but I gave one 
to mother, and another one was gone before I knew 
I had it. This hour was your present." 

"Humph!" said Aunt Jane. She hobbled to the 
cupboard and took out a small round pie that smelt 
very good. "Here!" she said. "This is your pres- 
ent, and I thank you for mine. Come again, will 
you?" 

"Indeed I will," said Jack, "and thank you for the 
pie!" 

Next Jack went and read for an hour to old Mr. 
Green, who was blind. He read a book about the 
sea, and they both liked it very much, so the hour 
went quickly. Then it was time to help mother get 
dinner, and then time to eat it ; that took two hours, 
and Aunt Jane's pie was wonderful. Then Jack took 
the Smith baby for a ride in its carriage, as Mrs. 
Smith was ill, and they met its grandfather, who 

350 



CHRISTMAS 

filled Jack's pockets with candy and popcorn and in- 
vited him to a Christmas tree that night. 

Next Jack went to see Willy Brown, who had been 
ill for a long time and could not leave his bed. Willy 
was very glad to see him; they played a game, and 
then each told the other a story, and before Jack 
knew it the clock struck six. 

"Oh !" cried Jack. "You have had two !" 

"Two what?" asked Willy. 

"Two hours!" said Jack; and he told Willy about 
the presents he was giving. "I am glad I gave you 
two," he said, "and I would give you three, but I 
must go and help mother." 

"Oh, dear !" said Willy. "I thank you very much, 
Jack. I have had a perfectly great time ; but I have 
nothing to give you." 

Jack laughed. "Why, don't you see?" he cried; 
"you have given me just the same thing. I have had 
a great time, too." 

"Mother," said Jack, as he was going to bed, "I 
have had a splendid Christmas, but I wish I had had 
something to give you besides the hours." 

"My darling," said his mother, "you have given 
me the best gift of all — yourself !" 

351 



O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM! 

By Phillips Brooks 

O little town of Bethlehem ! 

How still we see thee lie, 
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep, 

The silent stars go by ; 
Yet in thy dark streets shineth 

The everlasting Light ; 
The hopes and fears of all the years. 

Are met in thee to-night. 

For Christ is born of Mary, 

And gathered all above, 
While mortals sleep the angels keep 

Their watch of wondering love. 
D morning stars together 

Proclaim the holy birth ! 
And praises sing to God the King, 

And peace to men on earth. 

How silently, how silently, 

The wondrous gift is given; 
So God imparts to human hearts 

The blessings of His heaven. 
No ear may hear His coming, 

But in this world of sin, 
M/'here meek souls will receive Him still, 

The dear Christ enters in. 
352 



CHRISTMAS 

O holy Child of Bethlehem! 

Descend to us, we pray, 
Cast out our sin and enter in, 

Be born in us to-day. 
We hear the Christmas angels, 

The great glad tidings tell, 
O, come to us, abide with us. 

Our Lord Immanuel ! 



ST. CHRISTOPHER AND THE 
CHRIST CHILD 

By Andrea Hofer Proudfoot 

Even after the Christ Child had come upon the 
earth, and the children of the world and the grown 
people, too, had heard the story over and over, they 
still watched and waited for Him. 

When He went to His Father, His last words had 
been promises of His coming back again, and sweet 
thoughts like these He left with us: I go to my 
Father, but I shall return again ; Lo, I am with you 
alway. 

So it is no wonder that the world went on waiting 
353 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

and watching, and working to be good enough to re- 
ceive Him when He came again. 

Far back, many years ago, when good men were 
called saints, there lived one named Christopher. 
He was very large and strong, and could lift the 
heaviest burdens on his back; and his legs were so 
stout that he could travel far without growing tired. 

Although he loved God and did all the good 
things he could, yet he knew very little of the wise 
things of the world. He thought it would be almost 
useless for him to think of serving the King of 
Heaven by prayers and beautiful words, as did all 
the people who passed through his home place on 
their way to Jerusalem. 

One day he went to a very good brother who was 
wiser than many others and who lived all alone in a 
cave and was called a hermit. He thought he would 
ask him what he might do to serve God more and 
better than he had done ever before. The hermit 
lived a long way off, and so Christopher broke off a 
palm tree to use as a staff, for he was a man of 
great power. 

When he found the hermit, he said : "Brother, I 
am strong and large; I can bear heavy loads and 
walk through stony paths long distances, and never 

354 



CHRISTMAS 

weary. See this palm which I broke with my single 
hand! Yet, brother, I would rather serve God and 
have His blessing, than be strong, without a pur- 
pose." 

"Then, good Christopher, you may do as I tell 
you. There is a river with a stony bottom, wide 
and deep, with steep banks, through which all our 
people must pass on their way to Jerusalem. There 
is no bridge, and every rain fills these high banks, 
and many people are compelled to wait and lose their 
way. Do you know the river ?" 

Christopher bowed his head. 

"If you would serve God, go and serve His people 
and help them over this water, so deep and rocky 
and wide." 

Christopher bowed his head again. 

"Why do you not speak? Do you fear?" the her- 
mit asked. 

But Christopher only raised his head and an- 
swered: "It is nothing for me to carry loads and 
fight the water. I want to learn beautiful prayers 
and go as a pilgrim with the other worshipers." 

"Christopher, my brother," said the hermit, 
"serve and love your brethren first, and then you 
will begin to know how to serve and love the Father. 

355 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

You will know, some day, why I speak thus; for 
when you love others you love the Christ Child as 
well." 

And Christopher bowed his head and went away. 
He took his great staff, made of the palm tree which 
he had torn up, and with other palms he built him- 
self a hut at the crossing of the river. There day 
after day he toiled and helped the travelers over. 
When the rains came and the water was very deep, 
he would put people on his shoulders, and when little 
children came to cross, he always bore them so much 
more joyously. 

At night the people would call out to him, and if 
there was not a single star he would go just the 
same, without a question; for his brave feet knew 
every stone in the watery path. 

One very dark night' — so dark that Christopher 
almost prayed that no one would come to call him 
out into the rain — he heard a cry, as if a baby were 
without its mother in the storm. 

"It is the wind," said Christopher, and he tried to 
sleep and forget. 

Again the cry came : "Christopher, come, come !" 

He raised his head, threw about him his coat, and 
opened the door. His light flickered out, and the 
storm still roared. 

356 



CHRISTMAS 

"Christopher, Christopher, come and carry me 
over!" And he broke through the door and went 
out into the dark. 

There in the storm he found a young child, naked 
and all alone, sitting and waiting for him. 

"Carry me over, good Christopher. I must go to- 
night, for I promised so many beyond here that I 
was coming, and they are waiting and watching for 
me. Carry me over, good Christopher !" 

Christopher looked down upon the dear child ; he 
smiled and lifted him to his strong shoulders, and 
taking up his staff he stepped into the swollen 
stream. The waters rushed about them. The great 
stones In the bottom had been moved from their 
places, but Christopher walked carefully, and the lit- 
tle one clung to him so tightly that he had no fear. 

As he stepped out deeper and deeper into the river 
his burden seemed to grow heavier and heavier, for 
the water beat against them both. It seemed as 
though they must surely sink, for it was a wild, wild 
night. 

Each step was harder than the last, and his breath 
came hard, and his knees could scarcely hold out any 
longer, so heavy had his burden grown. His palm 
staff bent as it helped him along, and the river 
seemed never so wide before. 

357 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

At length he touched the other side, safe and 
weary. He set the child down ; gently and lovingly 
he did it, and with never a thought of how hard he 
had worked to help. And suddenly, as the clouds 
broke and the moonlight fell upon them, he saw a 
beautiful being with shining face and holy smile; 
and in the quiet of the night he broke out with — 
"Who are you, my child? who are you? for had I 
carried the whole world on my shoulders to serve 
God, it could not have been harder. Tell me who 
you are !" 

And the sweet voice said : "Good Christopher, I 
am He who has promised to come to you, and whom 
you have been serving. Did you not know that in 
this humble, hard work at serving all, you were serv- 
ing me and the Father? With whatever strength 
you have you shall serve, and it shall all be holy. 
Your staff, too, has served with all its power. If 
you will plant it in the ground you shall see what 
beautiful things live even in a dry staff when it 
works for others." 

Christopher did so, and suddenly the staff blos- 
somed into a beautiful fresh palm tree full of fruit. 
And his great heart was filled with content, for he 
knew that he and his staff had served the Christ 
Child. 

358 



CHRISTMAS 

And the Christ passed on into the early morning 
light that was breaking, 

Down the long pathway He went, on and on, to 
cheer the waiting people all the way. 

Christopher went back to his holy work of serving 
men; he no longer needed his staff, for his happy 
heart never let him lose courage, since he knew he 
was serving the Christ Child. 



WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED 
THEIR FLOCKS BY NIGHT 

By Nahum Tate 

While shepherds watched their flocks by night. 

All seated on the ground, 
The angel of the Lord came down. 

And glory shone around. 

"Fear not," said he, for mighty dread 

Had seized their troubled mind ; 
"Glad tidings of great joy I bring 

To you and all mankind. 
359 



THE GOLDEN HOUR 

"To you, in David's town, this day 

Is born, of David's line, 
The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord, 
And this shall be the sign : 

"The heavenly babe you there shall find 

To human view displayed, 
All meanly wrapped in swaddling bands, 
And in a manger laid." 

Thus spake the seraph ; and forthwith 

Appeared a shining throng 
Of angels, praising God, who thus 

Addressed their joyful song: 

"All glory be to God on high. 
And to the earth be peace ; 
Good will henceforth from Heaven to men 
Begin and never cease." 



INDEXES 



INDEX 
BY TITLES AND GRADES 

grades page 

ABOUBenAdHEM 4 220 

America 3,4 289 

Androclus and the Lion 3 70 

Answer to a Child's Question .... 3 ^H 

Arab to His Favorite Steed, The ... 4 105 

Arbutus, The 3,4 114 

Arrow and the Song, The 3 49 

Aunt Esther's Rule i, 2 109 

Barbara Frietchie 3 294 

Battle Hymn of the Republic .... 4 298 

Beautiful Things 3 250 

Birds' Christmas Dinner, The .... i 75 

Birds Must Know, The 4 55 

Birds of Killingworth, The 3,4 78 

Blue and the Gray, The 3,4 290 

Bluebell, The 3,4 47 

Bluebird's Song, The ........ 3 34 

Bra\'e Little Rebel, A 3, 4 259 

Broken Flower-Pot, The 3,4 315 

Brown Thrush, The 2, 3 dz 

Bruce and the Spider 3, 4 279 

Busy Bee, The 1,2 198 

Butterflies, The 1,2 245 

Castle of Fortune, The 3,4 269 

Chickadee 2.,z 31 

Child's Thought of God, A 2, 3 2 

Christmas Bells 2,z 34i 

Christmas Bells 4 347 

Christmas Gifts 2, 3, 4 348 

Chrysanthemums 3.4 305 

Concord Hymn 3.4 ^^1 

Contentment 2, 3 175 

Cornelia's Jewels 3,4 i-'.S 

Cricket. The 3.4 41 



INDEX BY TITLES AND GRADES-ContitiueJ 

GRADES FAGB 

Crow and the Pitcher, The 2 278 

Daisy and the Lark, The 2, 3, 4 57 

Damon and Pythias 3,4 205 

Doves of Venice, The 3,4 66 

Faithful 2,3,4 307 

Farmer and His Sons, The ..... 2, 3 197 

Florence Nightingale . 3,4 240 

Flower- Voices 1,2,3 16 

Fountain, The 3,4 29 

God's Care >. . . . 1,2 11 

God's Gift in Nature . . . . .1 . . 1,2 20 

Grace Darling ,...,. 3,4 256 

Gray Swan, The 4 179 

Great Artist, The 3,4 50 

Hans, The Shepherd Boy ...... 3,4 187 

He Thought of It 3,4 208 

Heavens Declare His Glory, The ... 4 i 

Help One Another 2, 3 246 

Hemlock Log, The 3, 4 216 

Honest Woodman, The 1,2 188 

Horse's Story, A 3,4 82 

How TO Help 1,2 227 

"I -Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" ... 4 125 

If Ever I See 1,2 6q 

If I Were a Sunbeam 1,2 42 

In Winter 4 113 

June 3,4 251 

King Alfred 3 336 

Lamb, The 1,2 156 

Landing of the Pilgrims 3, 4 309 

Leonardo's Bird Cages 2,s 95 

Like a Cradle 2, 3 13 

Lion and the Mouse, The 1,2 211 

Little Anemone 1,2 151 

Little and Great 4 238 

Little Brown Hands 3,4 iS7 



INDEX BY TITLES AND GRAD^S-^Continued 

GRADES PACK 

Little Match Girl 3,4 342 

Little Ships in the Air i, 2 8 

Little White Lily 1,2 48 

Lost — Three Little Robins 1,2 y6 

Love of God, The 4 22 

Master's Violin, The 2, 3, 4 122 

Miller of the Dee, The 3, 4 173 

Morning 3,4 21 

Mountain and the Squirrel, The ... 3 131 

My Aim 3,4 215 

My Kingdom 2, 3 153 

Nahum Prince . 3,4 221 

Noble Nature, The 4 152 

November ..>;.. 3,4 115 

O Captain ! My Captain ! 3, 4 285 

O Little Tow^n of Bethlehem .... 3,4 352 

Ode 3,4 266 

Opportunity 3,4 255 

Orchard, The 3 321 

Petrified Fern, The 3,4 154 

Pine and the Flax, The 2, 3, 4 203 

Pippa's Song 2,3 9 

Planting of the Apple Tree, The ... 4 228 

Poppies in the Wheat 4 121 

Prayer, A 3,4 81 

Prayer for Each Season, A i, 2 14 

Providence 3,4 15 

Psalm I 4 191 

Psalm XIX 4 18 

Psalm CIII 3 6 

Rain in Summer 4 25 

Rover and His Friends ....... 1,2, 3 98 

Sandpiper, The 3,4 17 

Shepherd, The 3,4 ^^^3 

Song, A 3,4 33 

Song for Decoration Day 3,4 288 



INDEX BY TITLES AND GRADES— Continued ^ 

GRADES PAGE 

Song of the Brook, The 3,4 248 

Sparrow's Nest, The 2,3 64 

St. Christopher and the Christ Child . 3, 4 353 

Stone in the Road, The 2, 3 226 

Stone-Cutter, The 3,4 164 

Story of a Printer, The 2, 3, 4 335 

Streamlet, The 1,2,3 38 

Success is Knowing How 4 ^99 

Tender Hearted 1,2 no 

That's How 1,2 281 

Three Trees 3,4 US 

To the Skylark 3.4 39 

Tree, The 1,2,3 277 

Tubal Cain 4 242 

Tulip Bulbs, The 1,2,3 232 

Ugly Duckling, The 3,4 ^32 

Under the Snow 3 "7 

Village Blacksmith, The 3,4 161 

Violet, The 1,2,3 176 

Voice of the Grass, The 2, 3, 4 35 

Waiting to Grow 1,2,3 12 

Walk in Spring, A 1,2,3 10 

Webster's First Speech 2,3 67 

What is the Reason? 2,3 322 

What One Can Do i, 2 219 

Where to Look 3,4 224 

Which Loved Best? 1,2,3 247 

Which Was the Wiser? 1,2,3 27 

While Shepherds Watched 1,2,3 359 

Who Holds Up the Sky? 1,2 3 

Who Stole the Bird's-Nest? 1,2 73 

William Tell 3,4 303 

Wonderful World, The 1,2,3 126 

Word to Boys, A 3, 4 192 

Worship 2,3,4 i9 

Yussouf 4 182 



INDEX BY AUTHORS 



AbBY, H. pagb 

The Hemlock Log 216 

Addison, Joseph 

The Heavens Declare His Glory i 

^SOP 

The Crow and the Pitcher 278 

The Farmer and His Sons 197 

The Lion and the Mouse 211 

Alcott, Louisa M. 

My Kingdom 153 

Allerton, Ellen Palmer 

Beautiful Things 250 

Allison, Joy 

Which Loved Best? 247 

Andersen, Hans Christian 

The Daisy and the Lark 57 

The Little Match Girl 342 

The Ugly Duckling 132 

Armstrong, May 

Christmas Gifts 348 

Arnold, Sarah L. 

The Stone in the Road 226 

Bacon, Helen C. 

Song for Decoration Day 288 

Baldwin, James 

Androclus and the Lion 70 

Bruce and the Spider 279 

Cornelia's Jewels 148 

Damon and Pythias 205 

Grace Darling 256 

William Tell 303 

Banks, George Lennaeres 

My Aim 215 

Berry, Mrs. C. F. 

Lost — Three Little Robins 76 

BjoRNSON, Bjornstjerne 

The Tree 2^^ 



INDEX BY AUTHORS— Continued 

Blake, William page 

The Lamb 156 

The Shepherd 163 

Boyle, Sarah Roberts 

The Voice in the Grass . .. .. .,.,,.,.. 35 

Branch, Mary L. Bolles 

The Petrified Fern •. . ... 154 

Brooks, Phillips 

O Little Town of Bethlehem ... 352 

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett 

A Child's Thought of God . . ., [., :., ,. . . 2 
Browning, Robert 

Pippa's Song 9 

Bryant, Sara Cone (Adapted by) 

The Castle of Fortune . . . ..... 269 

Bryant, William Cullen 

The Planting of the Apple Tree ........ 228 

Gary, Alice 

November 115 

The Gray Swan ....;. ....;... . I79 
Cheseboro, Mrs. 

Under the Snow 117 

Child, Lydia Maria 

If Ever I See 69 

Who Stole the Bird's-Nest? ......... 73 

Claudius, Matthias 

God's Gift in Nature . . ., ... . .., . .. ,.. . 20 

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor 

Answer to a Child's Question .■ . ■. ■. . . . 37 
Collins, William 

Ode >: w :. > ..... 266 

Cooper, George 

Christmas Bells . . . ;. ., >. > . . 1.: ..> . 347 
CowPER, William 

Providence :....... IS 

Crandall, Charles H. 

Three Trees . . . >, . . . . ... . . 145 

Densel, Mary 

A Brave Little Rebel 259 



INDEX BY AUTRORS-^Continued 

Doer, Henry Ripley page 

Chickadee ...... ... ... . ... ,.,.... 31 

Eastman, Julia A. 

The Bluebell 47 

Eddy, Sarah J. 

Rover and His Friends .......... 98 

Emerson, Ralph Waldo 

Concord Hymn 287 

The Mountain and the Squirrel 131 

Faeer, Frederick W. 

The Love of God ..j .-> .. 22 

Finch, Francis M. 

The Blue and the Gray .j . ., . 290 

French, Frank 

Waiting to Grow .., ,. .j ... ,.. ,.. 12 

Hale, Edward Everett 

Nahum Prince ....... .j >; ^ ,.-. ,. 221 

Harrison, Elizabeth 

The Stone-Cutter >; . . 164 

Hemans, Felicia Dorothea 

The Landing of the Pilgrims 309 

Hillis, Newell Dwight 

Success is Knowing How I99 

Hogg, James 

To the Skylark > 39 

Howe, Julia Ward 

Battle Hymn of the Republic 298 

Hunt, Leigh 

Abou Ben Adhem 220 

Hunting, G. 

Help One Another 246 

Jackson, Helen Hunt 

Like a Cradle . . , 13 

Poppies in the Wheat 121 

The Birds Must Know 55 

Johnson, Laura Winthrop 

The Doves of Venice . 66 

JoNsoN, Ben 

The Noble Nature 152 



INDEX BY AUTHORS— Co«//««^</ 

KeMEYS, E. pagb 

The Arbutus I14 

Keout, Mary Hannah 

Little Brown Hands 157 

Larcom, Lucy 

If I Were a Sunbeam 42 

The Brown Thrush 63 

Lord, Emily B. 

A Prayer 81 

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth 

Christmas Bells 341 

Rain in Summer 25 

The Arrow and the Song 49 

The Birds of Killingworth (Retold) 78 

The Village Blacksmith 161 

Lowell, James Russell 

June 251 

The Fountain 29 

Yussouf 182 

Lytton, Bulwer 

The Broken Flower-Pot 315 

Macdonald, George 

Little White Lily 48 

Mackay, Charles 

Little and Great 238 

The Miller of the Dee 173 

Tubal Cain 242 

Mann, Horace 

A Word to Boys 192 

Miller, Emily Huntington 

The Bluebird's Song 34 

Norton, Caroline E. 

The Arab to His Favorite Steed 105 

Palmer, Alice Freeman 

Where to Look . 224 

Pierpont, Folloitt S. 

Worship 19 

Pike, Henrietta S. 

Little Anemone .* m tw . .. . . .. ... :. (^ m ISI 



INDEX BY AUTHORS— Continueci 

PRESCOTT, Mary N. page 

Contentmeut 175 

Proudfoot, Andrea Hofer 

St. Christopher and the Christ Child 353 

Rand, Edward A. 

Little Ships in the Air 8 

Rands, William Brighty 

The Wonderful World 126 

Riley, James Whitcomb 

A Song 22 

Segerstedt, Albrekt 

The Pine and the Flax 203 

Sewell, Anna 

A Horse's Story 82 

Sill, Edward Rowland 

Opportunity 255 

Smith, Charlotte Turner 

The Cricket 41 

Smith, Samuel Francis 

America 289 

Stoddart, M. a. 

A Walk in Spring 10 

The Streamlet 38 

Stowe, Harriet Beecher 

Aunt Esther's Rule 109 

Morning 21 

Tate, Nahum 

While Shepherds Watched 359 

Taylor, Bayard 

In Winter 113 

Taylor, Jane 

The Violet 176 

Thaxter, Celia 

The Sandpiper 17 

Watts, Isaac 

The Busy Bee 198 

Weir, H. 

The Sparrow's Nest 64 



INDEX BY AVTHORS—Conthueif 

Whitman, Walt page 

O Captain! My Captain! 285 

Whittier, John Greenleaf 

Barbara Frietchie •. . 294 

Wordsworth, William 

"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud" 125 

Old Testament 

Psalm I jgt 

Psalm XIX 18 

Psalm cm 6 

Miscellaneous 

A Prayer for Each Season 14 

Chrysanthemums 305 

Faithful 307 

Florence Nightingale 240 

Flower- Voices .; 16 

God's Care 11 

Hans, the Shepherd Boy 187 

He Thought of It > . . > . 208 

How to Help 227 

King Alfred 336 

Leonardo's Bird Cages 95 

Tender Hearted ..,.., no 

That's How 281 

The Birds' Christmas Dinner 75 

The Butterflies 245 

The Great Artist 50 

The Honest Woodman 188 

The Master's Violin >• 122 

The Orchard : . 321 

The Song of the Brook 248 

The Story of a Printer 335 

The Tulip Bulbs 232 

Webster's First Speech 67 

What is the Reason? 322 

What One Can Do 219 

Which Was the Wiser? 27 

Who Holds Up the Sky? 3 



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